I have decided to begin a new portion of my blog dedicated to the customers that come into my store who A. Annoy the piss out of me; B. Make me smile; or C. in any other way stand out to me. Please refer to a former post entitled
The Irritating, The Obnoxious, and the Grotesque
if you wish to read my first ranting of my lovely clientele.
Today’s rant shall be about The Schizo, since he was just here, and my shitty mood made him irritating to me today.
The Schizo is a man in his mid-to-late-30’s who walks my mall every day with a 100 lb headphone set on his skull. My first face-to-face experience with him occurred on a day when he hadn’t taken his meds, and came in to buy a book on Egyptian history, which ended with him ranting about how ” America is stupid and he can’t get a job here because he has a felony”; how “Russia has the right idea and everybody should get paid the same,” and how “he was trying to figure out a way to move TO Russia.” While The Schizo is quite an intelligent fellow, when he gives his opinions, his voice raises about 9 decibals, so that he sounds like a raving lunatic. I got him to change the subject, and he calmed down enough to re-engage his headset and continue his walk.
The next time he didn’t take his meds, he came in and immediately began ranting about the fact that his son doesn’t listen to him, and that HE is the boss, and his son needs to heed him. I agree with this wholly, however, when your dad is an unstable nut who forgets to take his pills, I understand where at times this might not be the thing you would want to do.
FYI, I do not in any way condone forcing anyone with schizophrenia to take medication, but in some cases I believe it would be beneficial, to those taking it and those coming in contact with them.
There are plenty of times when The Schizo has come in and we have had highly intelligent conversations on a variety of subjects, but more often than not, I sit behind my counter and listen to him rave on.
Tuesday he came in and was talking about I don’t know what. His thoughts were so scattered, I don’t even think HE knew what he was talking about. And during these times, he stands in front of the cash register and raves on, many times when a line of people is waiting to pay. It takes much nodding and mm-hmm-ing to get him to leave.
My brother is diagnosed as a schizo, so I realize a person sometimes needs extreme patience to deal with someone with this disease, but seriously, Schizo, if I have to hear another rant about Napoleon, or the Celts, I may just end up ranting to mall security.