Stink Eye

Before I get into the stink eye, just know that I can do a lot of things (except finish them). Crazy isn't one of the things I can do. I think that's why the universe challenges me with the mentally challenged. They always seem to occupy the same El car I'm in. Nevermind that I go out of my way to move down one. They manage to make it there anyway. Though it's harder to discern crazy now that people have hands free phones (I know this because my friend "R" is one of these people. He has a hands-free phone and is only crazy-ish, but he's not crazy, he's my friend.), but it's easy to spot crazy when a kid is holding a Red Eye and laughing hysterically. It's true that I may not be giving him credit. It could be that he was laughing because the writing really is that bad. However, I think it was crazy laughter. The kind that you can hear faintly through the glass after the men close the van doors and have secured the restraints. The kind of crazy that has the woman in the back row having a disagreement with herself out loud (of course with the only free seat next to her, so you stand for 5 more stops). The kind of disagreement you would have with yourself after a confrontation didn't go quite the way you planned. The only difference being that your confrontation was with a person other than yourself and you practiced the things you should've said in front of your bathroom mirror. You know, batshit crazy.

Sometimes, they sneak up on you and by the time you realize they're crazy, it's too late. Or, you unwittingly befriend them because the maternal figure in your office (former job) thinks it would be great if you met her friend's daughter who is about your age since you're new in town and all and the daughter tells you how she accepts calls from inmates and you think, "my, how trusting" and then she later goes off her meds that you didn't even know she was on and she decides to do a little off meds dialing on Thanksgiving and leaves some rather nasty voicemail about you and the size of your behind and you really don't know where that's coming from because you've only really been shopping a couple of times and the conversation was pleasant and you later find out that she was heavily medicated and ran away that same weekend to California and that it would've been good for someone to let you know that her mental situation was "delicate" at best.

AND, I know the man sitting across from me must've had a tough day. I could tell by the paint-stained clothing, the way he clutched his lunch box while trying to get in a brief nap before going home or maybe even to his next job. BUT you can't tell me that he couldn't feel those boogers in his nose. Not the little wheezy ones that could be mistaken for nose hair, but Frosted Mini-Wheat sized boogers. It's not like he was sleeping with his mouth open. You can't tell me he didn't feel that shit. Is life so bad that one would attempt asphyxiation on one's own boogers? I was so thankful for the light breeze today instead of heavy wind between stops. A little heavier and I could've been wearing a Mini-Wheat and then I would've lost my shit but in a polite way because he had a tough day.

Okay, enough about my day, let's talk about my neighbor. For some reason, this woman doesn't like me. Every time she sees me, she gives me the stink eye. Now, if you're sensitive like me, stink eye can be quite hurtful. I go out of my way to say "good morning," or hold the door open for her and her kids. So the stink eye is very hurtful, especially if you're sensitive like me. Now, if you're an acquaintance, I know you're thinking back to the saga that was "Bass Boy," but let me say this goes unprovoked. Plus, "Bass Boy" and I settled our differences. I moved to another state (not because it was mandated or anything) and even gave him a bottle of Maker's Mark for Christmas. You can't ask for a better ending. I'm very giving.

Which is why I can't understand why this woman doesn't like me. I mean, I really don't think she knows that I'm the one who called the police on her because she left her kids alone in her car while she did who knows what for over 30 minutes. It's quite possible that she doesn't even know that the police were called. I could understand you thinking I was overreacting IF at least one of the kids were over seven. I think I'm much more open in that respect because I am a product of a single-parent home and was a latchkey kid starting in the 3rd grade. I managed to keep myself alive, so I know older children probably could've too. (Especially children from Chicago. You should hear the mouths on some of these kids, but they're cute.) Anyway, we're talking toddler strapped in a car seat with the window all the way down staring at you like "please help me," or "please take me and sell me on the black market." So I did. . .the former, not the latter. I stayed with them, well sitting on the backstairs staring at the baby with the apologetic "Gee, I really hope your mom comes back soon so that you don't have to go to foster-care tonight" look waiting for either her to return or the police to show. I guess I should state here that I didn't know it was a them until after I called thback seat and saw the 6 year old sleeping on the backseat next to the baby, BUT STILL!!!

She left before the police even reached our block. I was even nice to her when she returned and I asked her if they were her kids (though they obviously were) as she got into the car and I told her, "Well, I'm glad you're back now, because I was worried." I didn't even say it in an accusatory "You're a bad, bad mother" tone. Although she's petite, she looks like she could box and I'm not one for violence, even pre-weave. Which is why I know Jerry Springer was staged because if you were to pull off someone's weave, the scalp is coming with it and I never saw blood on the show. She just woke the older one up, scolded her for falling asleep (mostly for my benefit) and took off.

So, I guess what I'm trying to say is that I'm making a concerted effort to be a better neighbor. Just last Sunday, as the couple (okay, single guy bringing home new "friend") upstairs were experiencing climax loudly (I think this girl had Jenna Jamison beat), I didn't resort to the usual Swiffer ceiling tap (I use the cleaner end because it's flat and you get to keep your deposit that way), I just rolled over to my sweetie, smiled, and said as loudly as I could, "Oh Puh-lease! It is not that serious!" All was well. I mean, I think so. I really hope he didn't lose his concentration. It took him some time to recover, but they started up again, a little quieter and less porno-like at 3 a.m. and I didn't hear the obligatory 4 a.m. door slam. So I guess everybody wins. Maybe I'll invite them down for mimosas on Sunday. . .as long as he's not the bastard that keeps stealing our paper.