Crackheads, and all homeless people in general, are paranoid like that. They always assume you’re plotting to steal their crack, even if they don’t have any and you’re a 90-year-old woman who walks with a limp. If there’s one thing crackheads fail to understand, it’s that not everyone likes crack as much as they do.
Oh, and also that crack will ruin them. They tend to forget that part, too.
To be fair, crackheads have every right to be paranoid. Someone probably is plotting to steal their crack, but it’s more than likely another crackhead, not a businessman or a housewife. The middle class prefers to degrade itself with alcohol and reality television.
I again found myself walking behind a crackhead a few weeks ago. I had just left a concert and started crossing the street to the bus stop when I noticed a woman there wearing a dirty old blanket like a cape. Every so often she would hold the blanket out along her arms as if she were Batman. This is the universal symbol for “I’m crazy. Please avoid speaking to me.”
Turning around was not an option because I had already started crossing the street and she had already begun staring at me. I decided to cross and continue walking to the next bus stop to avoid her. To my horror, she ran ahead of me, her dirty, turd-covered cape unfurling in the wind.
I purposely walked slower just to keep from catching up. This made her suspicious. She would occasionally stop completely and turn to stare at me, at which point I’d stop and pretend to answer my cellphone. Then she’d rewrap her poop cape around herself and continue walking. After a block and a half of repeating this, it became apparent that it wouldn’t end without some kind of confrontation.
Judging by her increasingly agitated state, I knew sooner or later she was going to turn around and either bite me or ask me to vote for Ron Paul, so I braced for the worst. I held my car key between my clenched knuckles so I could stab her in the boob if she tried to attack me.
Suddenly she whirled around, spread her cape to full bravado, and shouted “Bah!” She followed this with a series of clumsy kung fu kicks in the air. I froze, unsure of the proper response to “Bah”, or anything else she had done in the past 10 minutes. I cautiously walked around her. She softly whispered “Bahhhhhh.” I apologetically told her I didn’t support Ron Paul’s preference to withdraw from the United Nations, and hurriedly moved past.
She followed, and after I sat down on the bus stop bench, softly said “Bah” a few more times before continuing down the street. I thought I was rid of her, but 10 minutes later I saw her walking back toward the bus stop carrying what was either a filthy doll she found in a dumpster, or a real baby she found in a dumpster. The bus was arriving, so I didn’t wait to find out.
Imagine my surprise when I saw the same crackhead woman two days later ordering a double-double meal at an In-N-Out Burger. She was no longer wearing a cape, and actually looked like a normal person. The signs of drug abuse were noticeable, but she looked like someone’s exhausted mom rather than a deranged homeless person.
Our eyes met briefly, and she nervously looked away. It was obvious she remembered me, but didn’t recall how. It was as if we had slept together and she hadn’t been returning my calls. She sat at a table nearby with what I assume was either her boyfriend, her dealer, or her pimp. They had a conversation about how to properly care for plants.
Clearly, she wasn’t homeless at all. Her clothes were too nice, and she was eating actual food instead of garbage. Also, being homeless tends to hinder one’s ability to own houseplants. Yet she’s not normal either. Friends of mine have also seen her on the same street, wrapped in a blanket and ranting madly. It was hard to tell if I was watching someone whose life was falling apart or slowly coming together.
Rather than walking past her table and quietly saying “Bah”, as I very badly wanted to do, I let it go. She didn’t need my mockery. So we just ignored each other. She talked about gardening, I stuck to my own discussion, and when we both left, I turned to my friend and mocked her privately, as any good human being would do.
“That lady sitting next to us smokes crack,” I said. “I saw her wearing a blanket of poop.”
“Bah, she could do worse,” said my friend.
“Bah indeed,” I said. “Bah indeed.”
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