A few hours pass at this party and I found that I was scared of this special Indian. I felt he was unreasonable, which is to say I felt he absolutely could not be reasoned with because of his special brain. I don't remember why I felt like that just yet, but I do remember the events which sealed my intuitive inclinations as I went to use the restroom. My parents told me it was in the house and I just had to go up the porch, through the screened door and down the hall. I remember the next sequence of events pretty vividly: First, I was surprised that my parents just let me do something like that by myself, because I was only 4. They must have been on LSD or something, it was the 70's. Second, I was walking to the porch and I saw the special Indian warrior in the bushes, looking at me. I just kept walking and watching him watch me from a bush right next the stairs. He wasn't a very stealthy Indian by the way, I could totally see him. When I approached, he hopped out, raised a hatchet - a real fucking hatchet - over his head and started to swing it down at me. I remember thinking, "he's going to chop me in the head" and I stepped back in time to watch it swing by me, and lodge in the ground between us. I watched him struggle to get the blade out of the ground, and decided it would be best if I left. I went and told my parents, and they told his parents, to which they responded "Oh he's just playing around!" It was the 70's. Kids used to play with weapons all the time.
Fast forward 25 years later, and I am in San Francisco walking around the city with my ex as she checks out internships for her MSW program. We go to a local mental health center and I sit and read a U.S.A. Today during her interview. As I was reading, a mentally challenged tall skinny African American man wearing overalls walked into the waiting room. He was very friendly, talkative and social with everyone. Sigh.... Let me take a break here for a second to explain some things...
At this point in my life, I'm very aware of the fact that I have an irrational fear of mentally challenged people. I know it is stupid. I would like to not feel like that. It's exactly like a fear of dogs stemming from a childhood dog attack. It would be nice for me if when I'm in the food court of the Mall, and group of special people wander in to eat, squealing and gnashing their teeth as they do, and I'm not overwhelmed with the feeling I best expressed by the words "get the fuck out of here right now Jimmy". I have friends who have volunteered to work with mentally challenged people at schools and such, which I imagine is an occupation best compared to working as a cowhand at a satanic murderer/zombie ranch. The only good things I can imagine to come out of that experience would be the hilarious stories you get to tell your friends years later. Like the story my friend Peter Balabuch told me, about one Halloween where a special boy came to school wearing a cowboy hat, a tie-dye shirt, red Converse Chuck Taylor high tops, shorts and a Dracula cape. Peter asked him "Hey Brandon, what are you dressed up as for Halloween?" His response: "KENNY ROGERS." I love that story. I want to dress just like that and say I'm Kenny Rogers for Halloween too, but I elect to get the inspirational stories like these second hand, because I can't help but assume I will be killed every time I am around the Special Indians.
Back to the Mental Health Center. I saw the special guy and I thought "I'm in a new city, a new environment, beginning a new life. It's time to start making friends with the retards. It's the 2000's." So as he spoke with me, I spoke back to him all friendly-like. So far so good. There are no bladed weapons or anything. So, after our little talk had ended, I continued reading, proud of myself but still keeping a wary eye on my new friend. I noticed he kept walking in and out of the waiting room sitting down, and then leaving. I then noticed that when he was sitting, he was staring at me, and I further noticed that, when I paused to look at him he immediately got up and walked away. Hmm. The next time he came in the room, he sat a little closer to me. I decided to scope him out with my peripheral vision to see if I could tell what was going on. Awesome news! It turns out he was staring at me and beating off. That's all. Just staring at my face.... and beating off. Excellent. The truce is off. Special Indians: 2 - Me: 0. Not really knowing what to do, I tried to place the newspaper between my face and his field of vision. I found that he was fairly aggressive, as he repositioned himself so he can get a good view of my face. Why my face dude? That's disturbing.
So, I dropped the paper and stared right at him. He immediately left. Then he came back. Started jacking. I stared. He left. This process repeated itself about two more times, until I decided to run upstairs to the second floor and hide behind a potted plant, where he couldn't see me. I watched him walk back into and out of the waiting room in a mad masturbatory frenzy looking all over the bottom floor for my face. After he gave up and left, it dawned on me that I was a twenty-eight year old, grown up man, hiding behind a potted plant, running from a special Indian pervert and I had run into an area of the building I was not allowed to be in. The guy left finally and I right at the same time, my ex was done with her interview. We left the building safely alive and un-raped. Since then, I haven't had any more experiences with mentally challenged people, but as a result my fears of their ilk have not lessened.
5 comments:
Jimmy,
That was a fantastic post! I must admit I have similar feelings of unease when in the proximity of mentally challenged people. I cannot point to my "special indian" moment, but I do barely remeber getting in a fight with a retard at a playground while very young. The reason for the fight I cannot now fathom, I remember getting completely p-owned due to his unnatural strength and beserker fighting technique. I am not sure if this is the cause of my unease, or just a very early outpouring thereof in a time when I did not realize that fighting someone because you were uneasy with their differences was not appropriate.
Having worked in NYC, I seem to come into proximity with mental challenged people often, on the subways etc. When I get on a subway car and its crowded and there is some guy making bizarre movements or noises, or talking to themselves, I want to jump off the train, it is like I have a mini panic attack every time. I have heard storied of crazed homeless people pushing people in front of subway trains, and just hitting a woman with a brick on the street for no reason. I guess those things effected me. I have come to think that this uneasiness I feel is due to my belief that mentally challenged people are totally unpredictable. That unpredictablity is what scares me, they can do anything at anytime because they lack the gates in their brains that prevent them from doing extremely dangerous things, ala swinging a hatchet at a kids head, or pushing someone into traffic, beating off in public (you are not alone in that experience,my wife was on subway sitting quietly on a seat, and everybody was backing away from her direction, turns out some weirdo was wacking off right there in the seat next to her),or hitting people with bricks for no reason.
I commend your attempt to contact this mentally challenged man, that takes balls. I must admit I feel good that I am not the only one to suffer from "Special Indian" syndrome.
-P
Yes! The unpredictability of the situation is what makes it so scary. I get the same feeling around homeless and what I perceive as generally crazy people. I'm already paranoid in public places as it is, so throw in a touch of 'crazy' and I get pretty anxious.
whoa...scary... scary that we could all just lose it at any moment. seeing yourself in these unpredictable ones is the real fear. one minute having it all together and the next..events happen...then gone. jacking off to some guy in the waiting room. totally mad. now that's scary.
That's funny that P mentioned bricks, because as kids me and my brother were forced to play with a retarded kid all the time because we were friends with his two brothers. I can vouch that as children they are formidable opponents due to their barbarian strength and insane style of fighting. I have horrible memories of being pinned down by that kid and trying to avoid his snot and drool from dripping onto my face until his brothers came and pulled the maniac off. Also, he actually did at one point throw a brick at my brother from up in a treehouse. It hit him on the head. You could see his neck compress under the impact and in just a few minutes his shirt was drenched in blood. He had to be taken to the hospital. That kid also tried to bite off my finger.
Years later working in the back of Walmart during college i was pushing a cart of books in the warehouse when this fire extinguisher went flying right by my face. Some walmart hired challenged person was having a fit and had thrown it as hard as they could into the main aisle without looking.
I can definitely relate to this fear (or phobia(?) I remember I was in Wal-Mart a few years ago, and I spotted group of mentally challenged people with their caretakers strolling. I started feeling uneasy and immediately turned the other way. I was browsing, thinking about my stuff and when I turn around, their group was right near me! I started to panic and wanted to cry (yes it's THAT bad). Somehow I held back my tears, and ran like hell out of the store.
If I tell anybody about my fear, they'll just think i'm an ass and that I do not 'understand' them.
It feels a little better knowing there's people that feel the same way I do.
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