Crazy people and their antics.

On the way to my second full day of work—O the joys of wearing clean pants! O New Yorker read on the B train, I sing of thee!—I spotted an honest-to-God crazy person, which I was needless to say very excited about. I'm in Manhattan so infrequently lately, and I don't see as many as I used to. Of course we house all manner of nutjobs right here in Brooklyn, like the woman who ambled alongside me and Henry through the aisles of Met Food, explaining to Henry (who was not yet 1 and therefore struggled to follow her reasoning) that the Rastafarians were making her eat their food (although why were her panties so bunched over this? The Rastafarians are all about the organic quality stuff--she should have been grateful! Grateful for their forcing!). But there’s something about the spittle-flecked whack-jobs caroming through Times Square—I don’t know, they have a certain flair lacking in your average Brooklyn eccentric. In Brooklyn, they’ll smear a little poo on their pants and leave it at that; in Manhattan, the crazies will scoop horse manure from the gutters of Central Park and ladle it onto their heads. It's all in the details.

So as I made my way down 42nd I heard angry shouts, increasing in volume. I did that avert-the-eyes-and-cringe-slightly thing that we New Yorkers do, figuring that there was some kind of potentially violent disagreement heading my way, and please don’t knock into me because look how clean my pants are, you don’t want to soil the clean pants! But then I heard the content of the shouting, which consisted only of this: “Harrumph! Harrumph! Harr-UMPH! HARRUMPH! Harrumph. HARRUMPH HARRUMPH HARRUMPH! Hhhhhhaar—“ Etc. So of course I had to look. And immediately to my right, there was a—how do I do this justice?

Imagine Zero Mostel in a fright wig, wearing an ill-fitting suit, carrying a briefcase. He’s on take 57 of the “Harrumph” scene. His face is dark red and sweating, his hair is wet and both pasted onto his head and sticking up in all the wrong places, and he’s…well, dead, actually. Poor Zero Mostel! But let us not get all distracted by our sorrow to stop listening to this guy, who is STILL SHOUTING harrumph over and over, with wild, unfettered fury, and he’s slamming this briefcase into a mailbox like he’s going to harrumph that mailbox (or that briefcase, or both) to death, but still ALL HE’S SAYING, ALBEIT REPEATEDLY, IS HARRUMPH. Everyone around him scatters as he raises his briefcase over his head and brings it down on the mailbox, shrieking and wailing the aforementioned word.

And yes, the delight I take in the misfortunes of others is evil and will almost certainly condemn me to hell, where I’ll room with Mr. Sweaty Harrumpher, but before I had time to reflect on the tragic turn of events that brought him to this place the light was changing and also I realized he could be homicidal so I hightailed it across Broadway. The end.

Comments

[Amanda]

I laugh at the crazies too. I'll be in hell with you.

[Very Mom]

I can't tell you how much I love you. I'd be called crazy and hauled off to the Blogger Stalker Prison. HARRUMPH!

[jilbur]

Really, my favorite part is that is is "harumph'. I just love it when onomatopoiea goes all literal and shit. Umm, I guess in this case, "and shit" is pretty literal too ...

[Mir]

Gee I wish I lived in a big city... or not. ;)

[FrumDad]

If you think about it, though, Hell's going to be full of pretty cool people. I mean, how Hellish would it be, really, if you're hanging with Finslippy?

I realize that it's deeply problematic for the Orthodox Jew making the flip comment about Hell.

Also, this reminds me of frog's "room in hell" meme.

--FD

[jen]

Yet again your post highlights why Chicago will never be greater than New York. *sigh* Our residents wear shirts at all times and, although we have homeless, they aren’t of the bat-sh*t crazy variety. They are more like decided-against-the-burden-of-paying-rent outdoorsmen.

For example, the gentlemen who live under the Damen Avenue bridge have a mini Weber grill, and, on occasion, can be seen hosting barbecues with normal-looking women who are wearing jewelry and carrying purses. I know the gals aren’t homeless because they need handbags to hold their house keys.

On second thought, perhaps we do trump New York in one area.

Our women may have lower standards.

[misokitty]

Who was Zero Mostel? The picture was vaguely familiar but I can't place him.

[Lee]

Did you at least stop for coffee? You need a beverage after that.

[Alice]

Jen: according to Mimi Smartypants, Chicago is crammed full of nuts. Look harder!

Misokitty: Rent "The Producers," stat.

Lee: Of course I did. But I always stop for coffee. (That's my motto, actually).

[Martha]

I moved out of New York almost 3 years ago, and I still miss The Crazies. Oh, sure, you come across occasional crazies out here in Arizona, but they're not QUALITY crazies.

[Melissa S]

Oh Alice, delight in the misfortune of others? Evil?

'A Satan Comes In Many Guises'

They were right.

[sarah]

There's a whole different flavour of crazy on the west coast. And in Canada.

It rains a lot in Vancouver, so many of our crazies are of the odd-things-on-your-head variety. There is one lovely gentleman who wears half a globe (I've never been close enough to see which hemisphere) tied to his head with plastic shopping bags. Another young man with a very shiny silver helmet just walks back and forth across one of the busier streets with a huge smile on his face.

I suspect that the two individuals I mentioned above are friends with the guy who rides the bus with about a pound of pot in a bag, eating it by the handful, like trail mix. He is usually willing to share.

[coolbeans]

I'm a little low on crazies over here. Could you carry a video camera with you? Please?

[Jessica]

There are many crazies in Seattle... however I am much anticipating my first visit to see NY crazies. My room in hell is large, I may as well add a few more characters to the orgy of insanity.

[the mighty jimbo]

freaks in san fran are more tame. but maybe they are just too damn cold to make such a fuss.

[debl]

Here in my little town, we still have a few leftover crazies from when the state mental hospital closed up shop due to lack of funding in the mid-late 1980s (Thanks, Reagan!). Lots of the inhabitants were deinstitutionalized, which is good for them, and also good for those townspeople who like a little wackiness in their lives. Mostly they just panhandle now, though. A few of the more colorful ones have died off in the past few years: The old guy with no nose who used to sit at the main intersection in town and mutter obscenities at the passers-by under his breath, he's gone, as is the guy who wore a wig and short jogging shorts year-round and had a bicycle adorned with a basket and plastic flowers, the whole thing was spray-painted gold. Good times.

[AnneWhitney]

I take my kids into NYC regularly (and almost always through the Times Square subway station at some point) just so they get exposed to the crazies - I could care less about various fancy-schmancy lessons and classes that the other suburban moms think essential to their children's growth - I want mine to be able to talk to cab drivers, give spare change to bums and odd musicians (and sometimes really good musicians), and learn to deal with the crazies.

[Gertrude McFuzz]

We have the finest nuts in all the land. Nothing compares to the New York City crazies. Everyday on my way to work I used to pass this guy having an argument with himself. Just one of many...

One nut I'm fond of is the guy who stands in front of the coffee shop. To every person entering the shop he YELLS "I'm short of change...I'm short of money...I'm short of money YOU MOTHERFUCKERS". Every shout is accompanied with a sort of jerking Saint Vitus dance.

Another favorite is the guy who wears the bottom part of a Tony the Tiger outfit.

[Gertrude McFuzz]

That is one cute baby in that picture btw.

[kelly]

oh, how i miss NY...

harrumph!

[jt]

My sister (a once very talented painter) was diagnosed with severe bi-polar disorder at the age of 35. I love her dearly. She is now on 14 different types of medications to keep her functioning and from hearing the horrid voices that used to haunt her. She is no longer the person I grew up with, she is now a person I do not know. My family and I have lost "her" to this disease. It pains me so deeply to read something such as this post. Maybe someday you (and most of the population) will realize that mental illness is not something the person asked for, can control or is contagious to you. Their brain is merely sick. You should be ashamed at your lack of compassion for the most vulnerable in our society today.

[jt]

A couple other thoughts:
•Would all of you laugh at someone who had terminal cancer?
•Did you know that most insurance companies do not cover psychiatric medications, and that MOST of these people do not want to live like that?
•Medications to alliviate symptoms of mental illness cost upwards of $500 a month?
•Most "crazy people" as you call them are brothers, sisters, moms, dads, etc. of middle class, caring families, not "freaks"

[alice]

JT:
My post was off-the-cuff and admittedly flippant. I was using humor to express the discomfort of being in New York, of being in close proximity with strangers who may or may not at any given moment haul off and attack you. It was certainly not meant to laugh at anyone's disease.

I and I'm sure many members of my audience have suffered greatly from the effects of mental illness, and sometimes I do feel the need to laugh at things that cause me pain. Sometimes I make jokes about cancer. I joke about things that scare me. It's what I do.