A case of the crazies

It's pretty bad when you start mixing up the crazy people.

From where my desk is located at the newspaper office, I have a pretty clear view of the street via the large windows in the front of our building. For such a small town, Sistersville still has quite a volume of people in the downtown area throughout the weekdays, and after a while you start to recognize them and sometimes even learn their names.

Some of them, however, earn special distinction because they somehow worm their way into your lives. We have a regular group of townies who stop in — sometimes several times a week — either because they need something done (like a bush pulled out of their yards) or because they just want to shoot the breeze. We call them our "Cast of Characters" because, essentially, that's exactly what they are. The best fiction/humor writer in the world couldn't design characters as colorful as these. There's Bob, who's missing a finger on his left hand and shouts every word he says because he can't hear; Edith, whose main mission in life is to have her picture printed in the paper and who insists that "FBI" actually stands for "Female Body Inspector"; and Kermit, a lovable (i.e. feminine) old guy who swears Jim Henson got his inspiration for Kermit the Frog and Miss Piggy from him and his friend Martha.

I suppose every town has their own Cast of Characters. Or maybe I just notice it more because I work with the public. I remember several from when I lived in Elkins. There was Pirate Guy, Rascal Guy, Ed the Man/Woman, Not-So-Homeless Lady, Renee J., Dave R., and a host of others who kept things ... interesting. Once, the newspaper where I previously worked had to call the cops because some old lady decided to camp out in the business office. I think she even fell asleep.

The trouble I'm having is that I'm getting confused on which crazy people belong in which town. Steve and I go back to Elkins on a frequent basis, and when I'm there I usually spot someone walking down the street who reminds me of one of the crazies in Sistersville. I'll say, "Oh, there's Edith," even though Edith's only method of transportation is walking and I seriously doubt she would ever hoof it all the way over there. The other day, I was at work and thought I saw Pirate Guy walking down Wells Street. Why the heck would Pirate Guy be in Sistersville? Well, we are right next to the Ohio River... perhaps he's thinking of a career on a coal barge. Hmm..

I've got to get this straightened out before I join the ranks. I wonder what kind of crazy person I would be? I thought maybe I'd become the infamous cat lady, but I hate pet hair, so that's out of the question. I'll probably be the humped-over old woman who wears rolled-down white tube socks with black velcro sneakers who walks around town mumbling to herself, or the lady at the end of the street who throws beer bottles at the neighborhood kids who tell their friends she's 150 years old and just too mean to die. Yeah, it will probably be one of those.

Of course, I might not have to worry about keeping my crazies straight. I'm supposed to hear something about the new job today ... I was hoping I would have heard something by now, but I realize I'm just being impatient. It's only 11 a.m., for Pete's sake. I'm trying not to think about it too much, but the worst sound in the world is that of a phone not ringing. Of course, they could just call my home number and leave a message ... I should probably call the voice mail. But if I get started with that, it will become a day-long obsession and I'll end up with finger cramps from all that phone dialing. Sigh. I suppose I'll just have to wait it out and hope for the best. And, if it doesn't work out, I'll comfort myself by buying a couple packs of tube socks and some new black sneakers.