When You Can’t See the Forest for the Trees 9/244/02
I don’t want to know why crazy people are crazy. I just want to know how they find apartments.
There’s a woman who lives down the hall from me who is totally nuts. Every time I walk by her apartment, she’s screaming something. I used to think that she was just singing in another language, but then I stopped to listen one day. It was technically English, however garbled, and I’m not sure if I can still call it singing. There was a little singing to it, but not with any discernable melody. If I tried to play along, my guitar would be out of tune in three seconds.
Yesterday, I stopped long enough to hear her sing/yell, “The trees…and the forest…with the paint…and the chair…for you…†It’s possible that she’s redecorating in a jungle motif and is just really, really into it. But more than likely, the woman is, well, a few trees short of a forest. Yet somehow, she is still living in a beautiful high rise in a fairly expensive part of town.
Lest you misunderstand me, I do not really live in a beautiful high rise in a fairly expensive part of town. I can not afford to, and thus am staying at my friend’s place until this Sunday, when I move into my more permanent digs. I’ll be living in a house where my roommates thankfully do not sing about trees, chairs, and other such wooden items. Or at least as far as I know.
But this woman does live in a beautiful high rise in a fairly expensive part of town. And though Anna Nicole Smith seems to make a good living at it, I can’t imagine being an utter nutcase is very lucrative.
I had a horrible time looking for an apartment. The house I’ll be living in is the 16th place I contacted. And while it seems like I will love it there, it was almost impossible to find, and I like to think of myself as someone with all of his plants intact.
“If you could just fill out this lease agreement, we’ll be underway.â€
“The tiger…and the herd…with the curtains…and the lamp…for you…â€
“Thank you ma’am. Here are your keys.â€
If someone is actually mentally ill, that is not something to laugh at. Usually. But this woman is not disabled; she’s obviously stable enough to have a wonderful apartment. She’s just not stable enough to do it without singing to her furniture.
So I feel no remorse about making fun of her. And I’m not willing to believe that I’m the only one who does it. There must have been a tenant meeting sometime where she showed up and threw everyone off.
“We’re here to discuss the conditions of the parking garage.â€
“Garage…and the stapler…with the circus…and the cupboard…for you…â€
“We’re here to discuss the conditions of the parking garage and the crazy singing lady on the second floor.â€
The woman is entitled to have a place to live. But she is not entitled to have a place to live nicer than mine. Is there no housing Darwinism? Sure, I occasionally throw my garbage down the chute without tying the bag shut. And I’ll admit that I have removed someone else’s load of laundry from the dryer before it was completely dry (the time ran out, I swear). But I have never, ever, ever sang about upholstery or a large wooded area. That should count for something.
My new place has a lot of things that I’m looking forward to. There’s a pool table. And a porch. And cool roommates (one of them is even named David Cone). So when I threw out my garbage today (the bag was tied, I swear), I stopped in front of her door for one last concert. Mainly to remind myself how much better off I’d be in my new place.
I didn’t hear the woman, so I’m guessing she wasn’t home. But I did hear the guy next door on a phone call.
“I’ve got this crazy neighbor,†he said, as I began to nod knowingly. “Every time I see him, he’s just standing outside my other neighbor’s apartment.â€
Perhaps I should go pack.
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