Last days of driving.

No near misses lately.  I've run over a couple possums.  Those were lousy days.  Now, with the onset of summer, the daylight has increased and I've only really had thunderstorms to deal with.  No ice, just good old rain.  And damn but has it been rainy.  Last year we were in a never ending heatwave and drought, this year we've made up for that.  Rain to the point of flooding.  Some of my nights have been highlighted by fantastic light shows as thunderstorms rolled across the countryside.  In the flat areas you can watch the lightning for miles coming.

I have pretty eyes.  I've had two patients insist on it in the last month.  My standard response is to awkwardly say "Why thank you!", while trying to avoid further eye contact. I'm socially retarded.  This is how I roll, especially when dealing with clients. No, that isn't true.  This response applies across the board.  Normal, crazy, female, male.  I'm sure that if Christina Hendricks said as much, I'd shit myself and feint.  If I were lucky.  But no, I don't get random compliments from intelligent and beautiful women on the street. Nope.  I draw attention from the crazies.

One of my patients insists that I should have dated the med-passer at the facility.  Though I'm not clear on the why of it beyond the fact that the med-passer is single and I have the prettiest, clearest blue eyes that she(the patient) has ever seen.  Despite the fact that my eyes aren't pure blue, and I'm not quite sure what 'clearest' means in the context of eyes.  That I don't have cataracts perhaps.  She was rather incensed that I saw flaws in her reasoning, while trying to avoid the proposition.  I really don't like it when someone approaches me and says 'you should date *blank* because you're both single and she needs a boyfriend."  You're clearly perfect for each other!

This only it gets even weirder when the insistent individual a car accident/head injury victim who is obsessed with my eyes.

We've added a new section of homes.  They're called Behavioral.  Not the name of the company, but a self-description of their service.  They house people with emotional issues. Back in the days of Yore they would have been called Ye Olde Asylums for Insane Citizens.

Visiting them makes me uncomfortable for a variety of reasons.  Just a vibe I get that makes my hackles stand.  Though most of the patients seem to be happyish.

On one recent visit, a small man approaches the doorway where I am standing. I step aside as I assume he wants to talk to the staff whom I am keeping busy. "You are a very handsome man!"  He declares.  My response is the same one mentioned above.  It has not changed, only grown more awkward.  On a scale of uncomfortable encounters this isn't as bad as the time where a customer answered the door in her underwear.  Or my run in with the belligerent Harry Potter fan.  Or the unending tirade on how Johnson and Johnson created Male Pattern Baldness by putting battery acid in their shampoos in order to drive the sales of Rogaine.

Then he turns to one of the staff, who happens to be passing by and says "Isn't he a handsome man."  Which rather ramped up the level of discomfort on my part.  Well, I do not know if the staff actually agreed with the proclamation or if he was just humoring the gentleman, and this is something which I try not to ponder. But he answered in the affirmative.  The patient smiled and left.  After which, the woman checking in the delivery told me not to worry, he said that to everyone.

Well thanks for ruining the moment.  For a moment I was primed to quit everything and search for a career in high fashion!  Sure, this move would be based on the opinion of someone who is demonstrably insane.  An opinion that is rather questionable in it's accuracy and is at best unreliable.   And… well that's it really.  I got a compliment from a crazy who gives everyone the same compliment.  Guess I shouldn't quit my job and become a male model.

Now when i see him, he demands a fist-bump.

I have taken to wearing sunglasses indoors whenever possible.

One of the regulars whom I deal with is wheelchair bound.  I assume that he was in a car accident when he sustained his brain injury as that is the type of facility.  He proudly declares to the world that he is prone to seizures.  Or maybe he's looking for sympathy.  I've become jaded by my visits to worse places to give him much heed.  Aside from the wheelchair and the seizures, he seems have retained most of his cognitive abilities as well as all of his limbs.  While avoiding having a portion of his skull caved in.  I've seen worse.

Anyhow, he insists on calling me Drug Dealer.  But damn, but he does get his panties in a twist when anyone implies that he uses drugs.  Nope, he ingests legally prescribed medications.  He is insistent on this Point, like a pit bull that has locked its jaws.  Only Legally Prescribed Drugs.  Which is what I, the drug dealer, carry.  So I call him Drug User.  It's a circular exchange and proves that I have the maturity of a 11 year old boy.  Sometimes I wonder if he is taking advantage of his condition and using it as an opportunity to dis the people around him.  Very few human beings are willing to punch a cripple in the head, no matter what sort of abuse they hurl.  I stand with the majority on this.

Most of my interactions with him have been rather amusing.  He is a character.  He'd say something and I'd respond with a one-liner.  At one point he was randomly quizzing me on the state capitals.  I'd like to say that I passed with flying colors.  But it has been years since I last studied that in high school, and as such the rather less important information has leaked from my ears as I slept.   I failed dramatically.  Much to Wheels' amusement.

Then came the following exchange.  "You know, you should be on SNL, your voice is weird."  Have I mentioned that he's gotten really nasty lately?  I've heard my voice and it's not fantastic.  Sure, Urkle I ain't, nor do I hold a candle to the likes of Gilbert Godfried.  My voice isn't irritating, that I can tell.  I just don't cause panties to drop whenever I bust a verse and quote Star Wars.  Go figure.

You should be on SNL, your voice is weird.  I responded "I'd feel hurt, if I wasn't so certain that it was the drugs talking now."

Alas, I'll be changing jobs soon to something severely boring, but better paying and safer, so I doubt I'll have a steady stream of wacky adventures with the insane in the future.