Thursday, September 1, 2011

Safety Dance

She points to a woman at the bar. We'll call her Crazy Lady.

Although we could have just as easily called her:





  • Doesn't Get Out Much, or


  • Needs Socialization Skills, or


  • Dangerously Unbalanced, or


  • Forgot To Take the Mood Stabilizers Today.






Even from the back in her odd little ensemble she looks like a kook. And this is going by No Shower Happy Hour standards, which start off pretty minimal.



"What happened?" I ask. Kate is not one to conflict with many people. She is the one who people gravitate toward. Give tickets and freebies to. Allow her to take outrageous liberties.



Kate gives a very animated, wild eyed re-enactment of Crazy Lady's interaction with her, which stemmed from Kate inadvertently encroaching on her bar space while attempting to get a fresh drink.



The nerve.



Evidently Crazy got very close to her face and acted overly friendly and inquisitive and stood a little too close. At first Kate played along, thinking her caretakers from the nervous hospital would be along any minute to throw a net over her head.



But then she got wise and realized the woman was making a point. Or trying to, however lamely.



"Am I in your spot?" Kate asked, demonstrating complete calm.



"Yeah!" the woman screeched, in a little too high pitched a voice, with a little more shaking and nodding than would be customary, and with her eyes spinning noticeably in her head.



Sensing that the woman was just released from the Booby Hatch, Kate said, again, as calmly and cooperatively as she would ask me, "Would you like me to get out of your way?"



And again, Crazy Like a March Hare waved her head around on her scrawny neck and came close enough to Kate's face to examine her tonsils. Again, a high pitched, two syllable, "Yeah!"



Clearly Crazy Lady had dropped anchor at the bar hours ago and felt that she owned several square feet of space for all eternity. Kate moved out of the widening path of lunacy that surrounded the woman.



"I'll get you a drink," I say, knowing that Crazy is no match for me. I have Crazy three meals a day. Lars, work, you name it, I get a full daily dose of Crazy 7 days a week.



I hand Kate my drink to reduce the chance of getting it thrown on me, and make my way through the crowd to the bar.



I come along side Crazy and squeeze sideways in with my money hand extended. A nice gentleman to my front side acknowledges me and makes room. Even waves the bar tender over pointing to me as though I should be next. He's been here before, I guess. I turn to face the bar with the room he's made for me.



So where Crazy had to my back, she is now right next to me, and not happy to be sharing her real estate. At all.



Next thing I know, she is behind me. Right behind me. You might say, "on me."



Dancing wildly and waving her arms and giving me a full body slam against the bar, acting like it is an inadvertent consequence of her dancing. She'll show me!



Having ordered already and not needing to maintain eye contact with the bar tender, I turn around to place my back against the bar. Crazy Lady is now doing her Crazy Encroachment Dance on the front of me. All up and down my fabulous person!



Somehow, without making a face of total disgust, but instead, maintaining a posture of complete calm, I bring my hand up between us, clutch her blouse and the front of her bra, a la Jerselicious but without the 2 inch nails, and resisting the urge to push her, just relocate her forcibly to arm's distance. And hold her there momentarily. And tell her, "You need to stand here. And get a grip while you're at it."



She begins to wildly flail and somehow manages to stay upright while someone I assumed was her husband, but might have been her Constant Attendance Sitter from the Locked Unit, enveloped her in his arms and moved her away.



I turned to retrieve my drinks from the bar and pay. The guy next to me already has paid. "That was priceless," he says.



I turn with my drinks and am immediately confronted by the man who took Crazy Lady away.



Uh-oh. Never really been in a bar fight before. Where's the bouncer? I am not equipped for this.



Instead he leans in and says in my ear, "I'm sorry about that."



I know he's mortified. I say,"Thanks. It happens sometimes at Happy Hour."



I find Kate just as the band takes the stage. Crisis averted. Time to dance.




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