This morning as I was waiting for the N Judah train at Duboce Park, this guy rushed off the train as I was getting on. I entered the train and sat where he must have been sitting, as there was a white cell phone sitting on the seat.
I banged on the window until he heard me and turned around. I held up his phone so he could see it just as the train was pulling away. Oopsy!
I went into Day Job where the phone rang five times in the next two hours. None of them were the owner of the phone. The people were asking for Rodney. As nobody gets five calls on their cell phone at 10AM on a Wednesday morning, I figured that Rodney was probably a drug dealer. Great. I'm the good samaritan who helps drug dealers push their wares.
Several hours later, Rodney called. We talked about me giving the phone to him later in the evening. I told him that several people had called. He asked if they left messages with me.
Um, you want me to take messages for you? You didn't lose a secretary, you lost a cell phone.
Then he started explaining how he thought his neighbors might be changing his medical appointments without his permission so he really needed to get the phone back.
It was at this point I decided that Rodney was crazy.
Still, I held onto the phone and fielded another two or three calls until 5PM when Rodney called to come over and get the phone from me. Naturally, I gave a crazy person my home address.
As he was making his way over from where he was staying at Sixth and Mission (which means he's either a crazy drug addict or a crazy ex-con because those are the only people who live in the SRO hotels at Sixth and Mission) I got another call. The ring tone was different than the other ring tones, which must have meant it was customized for the caller.
It was a Christmas song. It is June. Definitely crazy.
When I answered I told the person that Rodney lost his phone and if they would call back in an hour they could probably talk to Rodney instead of me. She said, "Well then just tell him his mother called."
So I guess I *am* taking messages now. It must be family thing.
Rodney showed up and I gave him the phone. He looked like he wanted to have a conversation and I wasn't so down with that.
Rodney looks kind of AIDS-y, so now I'm thinking he's an AIDS Dementia sufferer, which means being crazy is just a side product of dying.
It wasn't the AIDS that kept me from wanting to talk to him, of course. It was the crazy. Here's a golden rule: All crazy people are annoying.
"Were you on the train this morning with the lady who had my phone?"
"Um, it was me who had the phone."
"Oh, you were wearing glasses then."
"Yeah, that was it." I was not wearing glasses.
I told Rodney that his mother called. His response: "Oh really? What did she say?"
See? Crazy = Annoying.
"She said to tell you that she called." Duh.
Then Rodney thanked me again and I sent him on his way.
I sat down to start blogging about this while still freshly annoyed. Fifteen or so minutes later, the doorbell rings again.
Gee, who could this be?
I thought to myself PERHAPS IT'S THE ANNOYING CRAZY PERSON WHO HAS MY HOME ADDRESS. (I always talk to myself in capslock.)
Of course it was Rodney. He said, "I just talked to my mom. Can I get your address or your phone number or something? I get paid on the first of the month and I could take you out to dinner or..."
1. He's standing in my doorway. He already knows my address all too well.
2. Give him my phone number? No. Fucking. Way.
3. Paid on the first of the month? I'll just take a wild guess... Welfare?
4. What does your mother have to do with any of this? Did she leave you a message?
"Oh, that's nice but no reward is necessary. Do unto others, they say," (I took a big risk by quoting something biblical. Crazy + Jesus = Murder.) "If someone found my cell phone I'd just be really happy to get it back."
"Are you sure?" Rodney asked.
Oh yes. I was sure.
Why is that every time I try to be a good samaritan a crazy person wants to take me out to dinner?