I seem to attract weirdos. Shut up. I know what you’re thinking.
But seriously, I am like a giant fly strip for freaks. I have yet to meet another person that has been chased down the street by a guy in an electric wheel chair accompanied by a limping lackey with a case of 24 beer on his shoulder. All I remember is someone shouting “Get Her!” and the pursuit was on. It’s hard to outrun someone in a motorized device. You know, with them having a motor and all. Plus, this was back in the day of those pointy pumps. You know. The ones from the ’80s that came in every colour under the sun, but were really ugly. Unfortunately, that was what I was wearing. Ecru pumps. And I hadn’t had the lifts done recently. Needless to say, I made it to my house and locked the door. And moved away shortly after.
Have you ever had a customer ask you for a cover for his banking passbook and tell you he eats them? I have. And when I laughed (because, naturally, I thought he was joking), he gave me a dirty look and said they only require a little salt. He seemed deadly serious about it all. He didn’t really look like a person whose diet consisted of plastic bank book covers–not that I know exactly what that would look like. I imagine it would involve broken teeth and the need to remain in a hunched-up, cramped position–due to the intestinal blockage and all.
Do you regularly get winked at by octogenarians in mudflap hats–you know, the hunting style hat with the ears that hang down? I do. Perhaps, this only happens in Canada.
I spent an entire flight with a strange man’s head on my shoulder. He was snoring. I was younger then–kinder and gentler–and I didn’t have the heart to wake him up. Plus, his head didn’t seem to have anything crawling in it. Nor were his shoulders coated in dandruff. Today, I would probably snap his head off my shoulder so hard it would land in someone’s kosher meal on the other side of the plane. I’ve become jaded over the years. Too many weirdos.
This is just a small sampling of the weirdos that I have encountered. I’ll save the others for later blogs. Don’t want to use up my best material in one post. Hehe.
I collect things–other than weirdos–so I wondered what weirdos collect. Besides passbook covers. And strange hats.
1) It would seem that some weirdos have a penchant for burning food and calling it “art.” First of all, why would you purposely set out to burn your food? Didn’t their parents tell that them that there are starving children in Africa? Second of all, burnt food stinks and it leaves a horrific odour in your house for days–and nothing is worse than the smell of a burnt carbohydrate. Lastly, who in their right mind is going to pay money to see a collection of burnt food? I could visit a remedial home economics class and see this for free. But, then again, I have to think like a weirdo. They probably eat this stuff right up. Figuratively and literally.
If you are a weirdo–which is quite likely (after all, I do attract them), you may wish to pay a visit to the Museum of Burnt Food in Arlington, Mass. Yes, you and nine of your friends can
endure enjoy a 90-minute “interactive theatrical tour experience that combines an engaging mix of character, observation, humor, discussion and performance-art” (burntfoodmuseum.com). What is the price for this revolting riveting experience? Now here is where it gets really weird–$500. Yes, this is for the weirdo elite.
At least they throw in a harpist. ’Cuz nothing goes with a burnt waffle better than the angelic sounds of a harp. And a negative bank account balance.
2) In case you’ve ever wondered what kind of tattoo a weirdo would get, I think I have that figured out too. Most people want a tattoo that says something that is personally meaningful to them in their “human” lives. I stress the word human. You know–a motto, a loved one’s name, a favourite animal/bug/plant/etc. Someone who has truly mastered the art of weirdness, however, walks into a tattoo shop and says, “Hey. I’m tired of being a human. I think that today I want to be a cat. A wild, spotted, man-eating cat.”
That’s exactly what Tom Leppard, Scot and former recluse, did. And his feline transformation didn’t stop at his flesh. He had some teeth removed and others made into sharp, cat-like fangs. If you’re going to become another species, you might as well go all out.
I wonder what came first–the name or the spots? And if his last name was Foot, what would he have done?
3) Even a weirdo has to eat, but what would be a weirdo’s food of choice? Probably something weird. And, maybe, a little gross.
People seem to love to talk about the nose-pickers of the world–the ones that sit in their cars at a red light and embark on an elbow-deep archaeological dig right there. They seem to forget that their windows are see-through. Well, what about the ear-pickers that walk amongst us? Should they not also share some of the shame? Especially the ones that grab a handy pointed object and turn it into an putty knife for ear wax. Ack. Has no one told them the “don’t put anything in your ears that is smaller than your elbow” rule?
As you know, I am a tad bit neurotic. I have now just added yet another phobia to my list–other people’s keys. The thought of my skin coming in touch with someone else’s ear gunk is horrifying. When we use a Q-tip we throw it out for that exact reason. If ear wax was something to be passed on to your friends and neighbours, we would keep our dirty cotton swabs on stick and mail them to our nearest and dearest. If you stick your key in your ear, throw it out.
Anyways, back to weirdo food. I’m sure that weirdos partake in all sorts of strange edibles–A Box of Boogers, Toe Jam Cotton Candy, and the occasional candy scab. But I’m sure that they’re preferred epicurean delight is a healthy helping of Ear Wax Candy. And they can eat it straight from an ear. With a custom-designed Q-tip.
I know I’ve been sort of hard on weirdos in this post, but I have to admit that I am hugely indebted to them. Without weird people, I wouldn’t have anything to write about. So, in honour of the weirdos of the world, I dedicate this 1970′s Canadian classic to you. It may seem like a “weird” song choice, but with the line “long-haired freaky people need not apply,” I thought it was apropos.
A special shout out to my buddy http://onthehomefrontandbeyond.wordpress.com/2013/05/21/unblissful-signs/ who recently blogged about this exact song.
If you want more, visit my latest post to my other blog here: http://searchingforbarryweiss.wordpress.com/2013/05/31/to-flub-or-not-to-flub-barry-weiss-sets-hitches-his-sitcom-star-to-the-great-white-north/
Photo credits: Forrest Gump (http://forrestgump227.wordpress.com/symbolism/), passbook cover (http://banksupplies.com/passbook-cover-3-x-4.html), Walter Matthau (http://www.aveleyman.com/FilmCredit.aspx?FilmID=7768), Burnt donut (http://www.burntfoodmuseum.com/exhibits/bagel.htm), Leopard Man (http://www.mirror.co.uk/news/weird-news/leopard-man-changes-his-spots-and-returns-352271), Ear Wax (http://listverse.com/2008/04/13/top-10-most-disgusting-candies-ever/),