on the subject of insanity basic rules for dealing with lunatics

On the Subject of Insanity

Basic Rules for Dealing with Lunatics

The Mobil in Stoneham (a suburb of Boston) where I worked last summer was frequented at night by several cast outs, one in particular intrigued me. He was a man in his forties tired and worn down from a hard life. The dirty blond hair short yet longer than the stubble it resembled wavered slightly in the wind. ‘Have you got good and baked today?’ the green shirt he wore posed an eerie gravitational force which produced peculiar stains. Never could he negotiate the reasoning behind their existences as we stood stoned ecstatic with irreverent laughter. Light brown dress pants and a light blue jacket were presented as his only, always a higher agenda distracted him from such human grievances whose voicing serves only in complicating matters. Little time was spent observing his cloths though for he talked so much of visions. Late one night he awoke in a sweat to see Hari Chrisna meditating before him. They began to talk on the nature of religion, the exact words elude me now for so long ago it was. I learned a system for avoiding him on days the tolerance needed was not to be found, and a system for dealing with him when he would not leave.

Do not look them in the eyes all the time.

The easiest way to deter a person you find repulsive is to appear not to be paying attention, even though you can not help listening. Perhaps think of something nice like a sunny beach, to dull the effect of the words. Just waiting for the customers to come in worked also; because he would hide in the shadows. If he does not the customer will usually scare him away for good, teens are very good at this with their joviality. There were always things to do to keep busy we had a check list that was usually done by one or two a.m. 2:00 a.m. was the time to take the readings from the pumps and measure the amount of gas in the tanks. There were a number of calculations to be completed on these readings which were usually entered into the computer by 3 a.m. I could always get away for that time.

Treat the regulars as friends.

He was always treated like an old friend by me, purely because he gave Al (the owner of the Mobil) a lot of business. I was always doing him favors: giving him free sodas that I had to pay for (but he did sometimes pay me back); cashing his lottery at night when the machine is off (this was accomplished by reading the codes then cashing them out in the lottery machine when it was turned on at 6:00 a.m.); and giving him a few cigarettes to help him through. He would feel bad and then not show up for a few days because he could not repay me.

Try to seem interested the third or fourth time they tell you the same thing.

Having a short attention span it is hard for me to concentrate let alone seem interested the third or fourth time I hear something. Once adjusted to the same dull conversations the pauses and chuckles flowed through routine and his words just blended together. There was one train of thought he always brought up in conversation, “I run a quarter mile a day, it is the shortest distance in which you can actually get a workout...” he would start out, “...Doctors told me I had cancer, they said I would not live to thirty-five, and here I am in my forties.” At this point the argument would either shift toward the fact that health foods and running had saved his life. He would shift to rambling about how Doctors do not really know what they are doing. The points made were almost worth the wait.

When addressed on the subject of God always agree with ironic undertones, though you partially believe in what they say.

I think the most intriguing part of our conversations were when he talked of God. In spasmodic conversation once he said that he believed in good and evil spirits and dreams. As time went on and he began to trust in me he whispered even stranger things. One time his mutters were about dreams in which he talked with Hare Krishna and some other Gurus unknown to me still. His counselor must have thought him crazy for talking to spirits, but who can argue that this is not strange? He did mention that his counselor had said, “Perhaps the spirits are attacking you... You should not do anything until they prove who they are.” This I regarded as funny when he told me, a laugh might have even slipped out. I was raised up Congregational so I disagreed with him when he started to talk of reincarnation. Deep down though I knew at least the possibility it all had to be true.

When you drive away ponder the things they say.

On the drive home from the last time of working the overnight shift I could not help thinking about him. The thoughts were of if he would hit the lottery big like he always wished and paid for, or if he would go on wandering through life. Sadness imaged through the memories when I remembered that the woman from the temp. agency said that it would be four years before he could hold a job. Thoughts continued on the twenty minute ride home, lack of sleep I’m sure was the antagonist. I may have not liked the repetitive nature of his conversation but he kept me company when everyone sane was sleeping. The conversations and cigarettes smoked created a special bond between us. We were not friends just lunatics crying over a broken world.

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