Strange People

It’s funny how strange people are. Often, you don’t realize somebody’s really out there until you talk to them for a little while. I was at bingo one night with my girlfriend and her friend. There was a staff member working there who was probably in his early to mid-thirties. He came around and was joking with us, probably not so much because of me as because of the two pretty girls in my company. It began innocently enough. He told us he loved to see young people like us win money at bingo, because it pisses off the old people. See, for the oldies, bingo is more a way of life than a Monday night activity. We just go occasionally. So we’re just laughing along with him; after all, we like it when we win, too. Periodically (and by that I mean every few minutes), he came around and talked to us, making jokes about this or that. Eventually, we learn that he’s been working here since he was nineteen. That seems entirely too long to be working here. We immediately feel sorry for him, but we don’t say that. However, I don’t think he would have minded if we had said it, because he didn’t seem to enjoy working there much. In any case, he starts telling us about how some of the old ladies in “the lounge,” or backroom of the place, are rude. He tells us they’ve threatened him before. We’re all laughing heartily at this. Once, he said, he had to go back there to break up a fistfight between two old ladies. That was hilarious. At this point, we’re really starting to enjoy this guy’s stories. Then, it gets a little strange. He says, “One time, this old man threatened me. I kept telling him he didn’t have bingo, but he refused to believe it. He told me he’d whip my ass with his cane.” We laugh. “You think I’m kidding. People have threatened to beat me up and call the cops. I’m like, good, I’ll kill ya then. You know, I’m not gettin raped.” Wondering where that came from? So were we. Up until he said “I’ll kill ya,” we were genuinely laughing, even though this guy was starting to get a little annoying. At “I’ll kill ya,” the laughter turned into that forced laughter that we all do when we’re uncomfortable, and at “I’m not gettin raped” we didn’t know what to do. My girlfriend’s friend said, “Yeah,” as though she knew what he was talking about. Thank God he turned and walked to another table at that point, because she and I both burst out laughing. We didn’t know what else to do.


Another time, I was at my aunt’s wedding. I was about thirteen at the time and I was hanging out with my cousin, who is two years younger. We were riding the elevators up and down, just because it was fun and we knew we weren’t supposed to be doing it. So, at one point, the elevator opens and there’s this frumpy, sassy woman standing there with her little son, who was probably six years old or so. We both recognize her as the unwanted bridesmaid who forced her way into our aunt’s wedding. Nobody wanted her there. My soon-to-be uncle, who was getting married to my aunt, was ready to strangle this woman. So here we stand in the elevator and there she stands outside. She’s holding a box in her arms. Her little son gets on the elevator and as she starts to get on, she says, “Hold the elevator, please.” She’s struggling with the box a little. The elevator doors begin to close. Her little son is closest to the button, but he doesn’t do anything. Maybe he doesn’t know which one to push. My cousin and I don’t have the time or the drive to show him, so we just stand there. There really wasn’t time, though. The elevator was already closing on her. It was too late. Nothing we could do. The doors squish her against the side of the elevator. She lets out a screech and wiggles her way on. The doors close. She looks at us and says, “When somebody says ‘hold the elevator,’ you should hold the elevator. It’s only the polite thing to do.” She turns away. “Watch out,” she continues. “I know kickboxing.” Are you kidding? Are you really threatening two young adolescent kids? We were glad she got stuck in the elevator doors. What a weirdo. I know kickboxing? Really?