Bring on the Crazies

Not to make any nerds out there jealous, but last weekend I’d just walked out of a film conference with the producer of ‘The Wrester’ and was wondering what on earth I was doing with my night, when a nice ‘Slavic’ boy started chatting to me. At last! – a film nerd and a foreigner for me to play with! We talked passionately about the conference and decided to grab dinner at a brilliant American invention – the Wholefood Market (http://www.wholefoodsmarket.com/products).

It is there, that the unexpected happens. We sit on a communal bench, next to a woman in her early 40’s with her head in her hands, and a cup of milk. I figure she’s just another depressed new Yorker. Then, in a broad NY accent, she looks up, and asks ‘is it hot in here? Tell me it’s hot in here?’. We both agreed, it was pretty hot. A few minutes later, ‘No, I mean I’m feeling really hot in here.’
‘Yes’ we agree it’s hot. Hotter than the freezing cold outside that is. She turns and stares. ‘I had two drinks! Only two! And now look!’
Me and Slavic exchange uncomfortable glances to say... oh dear, we’ve sat ourselves next to some weird looking alcoholic.
‘I never drink!’ She screeched. ‘I only had some wine! I’m a teacher, you know. There is something wrong with me.’
‘That’s ok’ I reassure her, ‘I often feel weird after two glasses of wine.’ (I don’t care if Slavic knows I can’t handle alcohol.)

‘I should drink milk right?’ She says taking a sip.
‘You should have some water’ I say again, hoping she will go away. For the next five minutes Slavic boy and I make small talk, while getting interrupted by this woman repeating herself. And then… she stares at me and says – ‘Hey, can you please come to the bathroom with me?’

I freeze. My god, this woman is a phsychopath and is making her move by isolating me alone in the toilets. Is she going to mug me or murder me? Me and Slavic boy exchange worried glances.

‘Can’t you go by yourself?’ I ask hopefully.
‘No, I want you to come with me.’
I ask Slavic boy to mind my bags. And try to convey that if I’m not back soon, to come after me. I stand, she takes my arm, and we make for the bathroom. Thoughts like, why is this crazy alcoholic woman on my arm, and why are we leaving alone together for the bathrooms.

Luckily there is a line to the ladies. Then unluckily, she starts screaming ‘I’m going vomit! I’m going to vomit!’ I suddenly realise what is happening, and I’m mortified, and have turned into a stiff and panicked person – as well as feeling terribly bad for thinking she was going to mug me. But before I can think of what to do, she projectile vomits over the entire bathroom floors, trapping people in the two stalls and sending the cue of people running. I try and direct her to the sink, then to the bin, and by that stage, there is not a tile spared.

Awkwardly, I rub her back, pass her dampened paper towels, telling her not to worry, and that I’ve vomited so many times on wine, I’ve lost count (true story).

The people in the stalls immerge, give me sympathetic glances, leap over the vomit and flee.

5 minutes later, we walk back to Slavic boy, who has finished his meal. Crazy lady then yells loudly ‘Your girlfriend is a saint! I vomited you know!’ Then keeps repeating her self.

We sit back down and the true craziness of this lady is slowly revealed to us.

Miraculously, I am able to eat some of my chicken and corn and rice salad. Mmmmm!