The CrazyLady At Fairgrounds
Words Jesse Scaccia
Thursday, August 20th, 2009 at 1:24 pm
There is a CrazyLady at my coffee shop. I go to Fairgrounds just about everyday, so I have ample anecdotal evidence to support that this woman is significantly off her who-who. I’ll just give you two:
1. She wears what appear to be floral print Zubaz pants.
Her pants look something like this except much tighter, worn to near her rib cage, and there is no insanely patriotic shoeless toddler involved... YET.
2. I have heard CrazyLady rasp “It’s a free country” at least half a dozen times. She says it without irony, lemon-faced, and with what she seems to think of as rhetorical force, as if that settles that. In The Book of Jesse, using this expression almost always means you are some kind of nut job.
The last time I heard her say it was to me. She was mumbling to herself over by the sugars and skim milk, as is her habit.
“Next time I’m going to tell him to shove it up his f—ing ass,” she growled to no one.
“That’s not very nice,” I offered, trying to be helpful (and to save her the indignity of talking to herself in public). “You shouldn’t say that to people.”
“It’s a free country, no one can tell me what to say,” CrazyLady informed me. Having educated me on the finer details of the liberties our forefathers deeded us, her voice got louder. I could feel everyone in the cafe watching. “I just got out of an abusive relationship. I’m going to do what I want.”
So I did what any normal person would do. I put my head on the table, closed my eyes, and whispered to my latte, “God, make me a bird so I can fly far, far away.”
Okay, I realize I’m being callous, both then in ignoring her from that point on, and now in writing this. This is is a woman who clearly has mental problems. It is perfectly conceivable that she has recently been abused somehow by her partner. It is obvious that this woman has a tough life–much tougher than mine–yet she lacks the social and intellectual facilities to navigate this very tough life of hers. CrazyLady deserves my–and our–full (and undivided by selfishness) empathy.
But I kind of don’t give a hot poop about all that. I want her out of my coffee shop.
I want her out of Elliott’s so bad sometimes I fantasize about the scene in The Big Lebowski when the police chief says, “Stay out of Malibu, Lebowski!” I wish that chief was around to tell her, “I don’t like you suckin’ around botherin’ our citizens, CrazyLady.”
This guy should stop messing with The Dude and come help me.
That’s harsh, but am I wrong? It seems like she’d be just as happy talking her constitutionally-minded jibber jabber toward, say, a pile of rusty deadbolts. Why does she need to do it around me at my special coffee shop?
The Fairgrounds girls don’t seem to be on my side. They are endlessly sweet and patient with her. I don’t want to be the guy that complains and asks that the handicapped woman be kicked out. Thinking these thoughts is bad enough. Acting on them would be something St. Peter and I would have to have a long talk about in purgatory.
What’s a kvetching young Jew to do?
Last Sunday I was reading Randy Cohen’s The Ethicist column in The New York Times Magazine. He was talking about a fairly similar situation. Here is a truncated version of the question:
I live in a small town and recently moved into an apartment across the street from a schizophrenic woman. She regularly accosts me, shouting insults with apparent lucidity… How should I respond to her?
In Cohen’s response, he quotes an NYU professor of psychology who probably would think I’m one of the bigger jerks in the world. The good doctor speculates that the writer’s conduct “has been unwittingly and paradoxically eliciting her most upsetting behavior.”
Wait a second. So CrazyLady is my fault? You’ve got to be kidding me.
In some way she probably is. Without meaning to, I treated her in a pretty pedantic, condescending way. I had never said hello to her upon entering the coffee shop, as I regularly do to many strangers. While she is crazy all on her own, I had projected crazy on her. With someone that unself-aware (see: her fashion sense), I’d imagine her self-conception is almost wholly built by the way people treat her.
She never was CrazyLady. Not until I named her that.
As much as it disappoints me to end this column that started out with all the grand hilarity of teasing an emotionally disturbed person, I’m going to leave off with some Stuart Smallyness.
I can do better. I will be nicer to her. In my head I will call her CrazyFunLady. We’ll see how that one goes.
I mean, there’s nothing else I can do without looking like a jerk or going to hell, anyway. May as well give it a shot.
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ABOUT THE WRITER
Jesse is the editor in chief of AltDaily, and he's going to take this bio seriously, but not so seriously that he's going to continue in the third person. I've been involved with a bunch of local projects and civic groups in various roles, including: Hampton Roads, The Canvas; Art | Everywhere, Street Performance in Norfolk; Survive Norfolk; Hampton Roads Pride/Out in the Park; Bike Norfolk; re:Vision Norfolk, and such.
I originally came to Norfolk as a Perry Morgan fellow in ODU's creative writing program. Before that I bummed around quite a bit, writing stacks of books that never got published, hitchhiking, couchsurfing, riding the Greyhound up down and back across this country. Some of my favorite jobs and volunteer gigs have included working on organic farms in Ireland; being first mate on an old sail boat in Holland; working at a long-term home for young men in South Africa; being a journalist and high school teacher in New York and California; washing dishes in Yosemite National Park; teaching English in DC and swimming in Florida; and interning at ESPN in Bristol, which was much less cool that you'd want it to be. My career highlights have been having three of my op-eds run in the New York Times, and being the executive producer of a six-part docu-drama on BET. Because school is cool I have three master's degrees (ODU for MFA, NYU for magazine journalism, University of Connecticut for secondary English education). I live in Norfolk because I believe in its potential. Email your ideas or nicely couched criticism to jesse@altdaily.com.
Other posts by Jesse Scaccia.
Other posts by Jesse Scaccia.
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Ok,maybe I’m the only one but there are so many things wrong with this article and the situation. Question knowing that she is mentally unstable why would you address her?, or correct any non coherent statement from her mouth.
Prior your engagement you obviously knew she was mentally unstable right? Maybe I’m the odd man out here but in most cases probably would have been best to ignore her. I doubt that you needed to save her the indignity of talking to herself in public. Odds are she probably would be doing that regardless of your attempts to correct her social irregularities.
Lets be honest and real for a moment. She probably doesn’t need you to be nice to her either. Like most attendees at the Fairgrounds would advice you to follow suite and ignore her outburst.
I think I’ll try on a pair of those Zubaz pants, preferably with a pair of boots,come in act crazy and see how uncomfortable I can make you.
Thanks,
Gjackson
Zubaz pants lover
Gjackson,
First of all this was an egocentric blog, not an article. Views of the author only reflect the opinions of the author, and sometimes not even him. That’s to say that none of this was objective, and I get that.
Why would I address her if I thought she was unstable? 1) I’m a dummy. 2) I honestly thought I could help lead her to not cursing somebody out. 3) We all need somebody to talk to. Her even moreso. I’m of the camp that it is always worth trying, even if you know well enough that trying might backfire in your face.
Don’t we all need people to be nice to us? My life is worlds better when strangers are kind to me. Isn’t everyone like that? If they’re not then, well, that just about destroys how I view the way people fit within their societies.
If you come into Fairgrounds wearing Zubaz and I see you I am going to charge you like a mad bull and then flip the script and kiss all over face like I’m a puppy and you’re covered in peanut butter.
Fair warning,
Jesse
maybe she’s a caffeine induced delusion from you spending too much time at fair grounds. then again, i really can’t talk.
Hmmmm, do I see the makings of a Crazy Jesse Jackson Lady Ménage à trois? Can you let me know when you plan on engaging in this hilarity? I want to sell tickets
So the menage a trois would be with me, the crazylady, and Jesse Jackson? That’s too nutty for life. For anyone who knows both me and the crazy lady, I IMPLORE you to do a google image search for Jesse Jackson and then to picture the three of us naked and covered in vanilla pudding.
Jackson = GJackson, But if you want the Reverend as well I’m calling Hustler and Pay per View
If you can the CrazyLady to agree to it, and if you bring me the Reverend, I will have sex with you all. That’s my promise to you, the readers.
I know who you’re talking about. The people at Fairgrounds have asked her to leave before, but only when her outbursts were really loud and threatening.
You don’t have to engage her in conversation, but you should be polite.
The only time I was concerned about her was when she was behind my apartment building shouting about spies and using the N word.
well. oh my. and well, oh my again.
i like this website more and more each day.
first i want to begin by stating this: i live with “mental dis-ease”. i reveal this in hopes that the Gjacksons of the world will spare me the digital crucifixion they hold prepared as they lurk in wait in the bushes at the side of the minefield of social correctness. i deal with long-term dysthymia (hereditary), anxiety disorder (sometimes severe, sometimes not so much), and a good deal of post-traumatic stress disorder from a great deal of grief. sometimes i’m overwhelmed by this. sometimes it makes me want to scream and curse at random people.
CrazyLady, as you’ve aptly named her, is horrid. i’ve been told to fuck off on more than one occasion, once for politely waiting for her to tend to her personal hygiene while blocking the crossroads of sales counter, condiment counter, and bathroom – i was not unique, all 5 or 6 customers waiting for her were subject to her vitriol on this particular day. another time i happened to pass her in mid-rant on Core as i was leaving the cafe – once again was told to fuck off for inadvertently making eye contact with her as i tracked her surreptitiously in hopes that i could make it by somehow without attracting her attention – and immediately called the cafe to make sure they knew she was on the way, and already “THERE”.
i once heard a story about Maya Angelou which i feel applies. to paraphrase – the person relating the story was attending a social function in Ms. Angelou’s home, and was speaking to the hostess when both of them heard, very clearly, a guest in another room loudly utter an expletive. Ms. Maya excused herself, went into the other room, and politely informed the guest that she would need him to leave as she does not permit profane language in her home. this was not due to some petty prudishness, but was the natural extension of a deeply-rooted belief on the part of Ms. Angelou, who knows a thing or two about the power of language, that words have an elemental power to touch and affect those who hear them, for good or for ill.
and that’s how i feel about CrazyLady. i don’t think she’s a bad person, but her hostility makes me feel uncomfortable in one of the few places here in Norfolk that i really, REALLY, like to be – because i have these difficulties sometimes dealing with the mean old world, and comfortable doesn’t always come easy for me.
another consideration – if this was a male, he would have been kicked out long ago.
compassion for the mentally ill is a good thing. i would encourage anyone who REALLY cares about the plight of the mentally ill to lobby for an increase in funding for public healthcare; but allowing the mentally ill to consider it their purview to verbally abuse anyone they so choose is not helpful. it’s not good for them, it’s not good for those who are regularly subjected to their misdirected anger, and in this instance it’s not good for the cafe. i hope that the good owner and the beautiful ladies of the cafe will talk to her and set some clear boundaries of behavior. if that doesn’t work then she needs to be invited to vent her seething rage elsewhere.
A used rubber glove in the rubbish bin, a box of unused rubber gloves on the book shelf, half of the people on blind folds, the other half with no pants on. That is what i think about this. But only as an option from my side.
if wearing Zubaz is going to get me jumped and licked by a buzzed head, furry chested nice jewish boy – I’M GOIN SHOPPIN, BABY!
Ok, article, blog, string of sentences woven together to create content…. I think you understood my point in the first comment. I better watch my self you may call, attention,to my various, comma splices.
Jesse I don’t think my girlfriend would like the licking unless she could join in.
———————-
davidlee
“i reveal this in hopes that the Gjacksons of the world will spare me the digital crucifixion they hold prepared as they lurk in wait in the bushes at the side of the minefield of social correctness.”
Ok?
————-
lizzelizzel
“The only time I was concerned about her was when she was behind my apartment building shouting about spies and using the N word.”
Had no Idea the extent of her madness.
——————
Gjackson
Wearing Zuma Pants
and Peanut Butter since 1975
I would callously suggest that we pair up Crazy(Fun)Lady with CrazyViolentYellingBicycleGuy, a large muscular man who rides through my neighborhood at regular intervals mumbling and sometimes shouting racial epithets and obscenities, but that wouldn’t be nice.
Honestly, the question of what to do with these people, how to respond when our sanctuaries of happiness (our cafes, the streets in front of our houses) are invaded by loud, potentially violent, unhinged people, deserves some discussion. I thank Jesse for bringing up the issue.
I don’t know the answer. I’ve contemplated getting a group of guys together and provoking crazy bicycling man to get him to start a fight, so we could put him in jail or in a hospital, but that’s the atavistic animal side of me wishing. What he really needs, I suspect, is a better pharmaceutical regime, and someone to help him enforce it. This would result in greater happiness for him and for the people in our neighborhood.
But how do you get that to happen? I honestly don’t know. Which is why I find myself lingering in the baseball bat section of Dick’s now and then…