Crazy is as crazy does

Since I'm apparently all about lists the last couple posts, here's a list of things I did last night:

1. Pet my best friend's cat.
   
2. Had a slice and a salad at Michael Scott's favorite "authentic New York pizza place." (That'd be Sbarro's, in case you missed The Office this week.)
3. Saw Munich.
   
4. Got verbally assaulted by my lunatic neighbor.

Which one do you want to hear about?

The cat, right? Yeah, everyone likes a good cat story... Instead, however, I think I'll talk about number 4.

Before last night, I had never actually spoken to the Crazy Lady who lives kitty-corner across the alley from me. My neighbors kitty-corner in the other direction had told me stories about her, and while I had no way of knowing whether any of the things they told me were actually true, I decided it best not to go out of my way to approach the woman. The stories my neighbors relayed ranged from the somewhat disturbing (e.g., Crazy telling them she was glad their elderly dog had died and then, a few months later, threatening the new puppy they adopted as well) to the downright absurd (e.g., Crazy trying to tear the gutters off another neighbor's house because she somehow rationalized that the flooding in her own basement was that neighbor's fault).

Whether the woman is truly certifiable or not, I did at the very least suspect some obvious issues with anger management and skewed perspective. While working in my yard one day last summer, I overheard what I thought was Crazy's half of a very heated phone conversation. She was obviously upset and seemingly irrationally defensive (over what, I had no idea). I'm not generally offended by a well-placed colorful profanity, but I do feel it loses its effect when you drop the f-word more times in thirty seconds than Tony Soprano did in all six seasons of The Sopranos. What alarmed me more than her language or volume, though, was when I realized there was a second voice in the conversation. She was not, in fact, on the phone; she was talking to someone sitting less than ten feet away from her. The person she was shouting at didn't match Crazy's decibel level or demeanor; on the contrary, person #2 sounded completely calm and rational, and not the least defensive. I can only assume it was a relative; I can't imagine someone not biologically bound to her putting up with that kind of rant without fighting back or simply up and leaving.

After that incident, I decided it best to avoid any contact, in an attempt to stay off Crazy's radar. My neighbors' stories and the fact that I've seen a police car in her driveway more than once only supported that decision.

I had a party at my house in September, and at one point I saw Crazy standing in the alley, staring down at us with her arms crossed in front of her. It wasn't terribly late and we weren't particularly loud, and Crazy didn't actually enter my yard or shout anything from her post, so I chose to ignore her and hope for the best. Since then, I have been a little bit worried that my cover as quiet, inconspicuous neighbor had been blown, but she hadn't once approached me, so I figured maybe I was in the clear. Until last night.

I pulled into my garage around 11:30 pm. I spent a few seconds gathering up the various bags I had on the front seat and exiting my car, so I probably wasn't paying attention or being as alert as I should be in a dark alley late at night. It's generally a safe neighborhood, so I have maybe a false and lazy sense of security sometimes. Therefore, when I heard a voice behind me as I reached for my garage door, I probably jumped two feet. When I turned and saw it was a neighbor (as opposed to a masked man with a machete), I should have been relieved, but since the neighbor was Crazy, I felt no less uneasy.

I have no idea where she came from; I didn't see her as I drove up the alley, and she wasn't wearing a coat. I can only assume she was watching from her window as I pulled in and decided to run out to discuss a very pressing matter on her mind. That matter, apparently, was garbage.

"You know," she began, in a snide and sarcastic and threatening tone, "I knew a really sweet old lady who used to live here, and she took her garbage out every Wednesday!"

I looked over at my City-provided garbage bin, standing out of the way against my neighbor's garage, in the same position it's been since the day I moved in, and I tried to decipher what her grievance with my trash habits might be.

"My garbage?" I asked, entirely confused (and still shaking a bit from having been startled so severely). "What's wrong with my garbage?"

"You'd better have a talk with your neighbors," she continued, "because this is bullshit, the garbage out here..."

I looked around at the neighboring houses. Everybody's trash bin was tucked as out of the way as possible, just like mine, all sidled along a garage or fence. Crazy's was, in fact, the only bin that was pulled away from her garage, carelessly left almost in the path of traffic.

Because I'm an intensely logical person, my need to understand her complaint apparently stood in the way of my realizing she likely had no complaint. You don't reason with lunacy; you nod and accept it and back away as swiftly as possible. That's the right way to respond. Instead, I pressed for explanation.

"What are you talking about??" I asked, foolishly. "What's the problem with my garbage?"

It was time for a new topic, apparently, because her reply was, "Well, your tree split and fell!"

Again, I sought for understanding instead of just retreating: "And that's my fault?" I asked.

Luckily she'd had enough of me at that point, it seems. Her final words were "Well I don't know, BITCH!" Then she muttered something in tongues and a bat flew out of her hair and she turned and ran away.

OK, so that last part didn't happen. But somehow, if I'm going to have a crazy person living next door, she might as well be amusingly crazy, in a folksy and mythical "villain in a children's story" sort of way. So that's the way I'm going to remember it. And that's what I'm going to tell the kids in the neighborhood as well. A healthy fear of eccentric strangers is good for them, right?