Infinite Loop

Picture this if you will:
It’s a nice sunny summer day in Oregon.
Elaine and I are weeding the side-yard.
A high school kid cruises up on his bicycle and stops next to where I am weeding.
Kid: “Hey, can I ask you a question?”
I stop weeding and walk over.
Me: “Sure man, what do you need?”
I am thinking “Sorry bud but I am not buying a magazine subscription, even if it means you won’t earn enough to go on that reward trip to Antigua with the rest of the junior sales team.”
Kid: “Why were the cops here?”
I look up and down the sleepy residential street.
Me: “The cops were HERE?”
Kid: “Yeah, the cops were just here so I rode down to see what was going on.”
Me: “Really? Well sorry man but I haven’t seen any cops.”
Kid: “Yeah, they were just here. Do you know what they were here for?”
Me: “No, I didn’t see any cops. I ran an errand about an hour and half ago so maybe I missed them…or something.”
Kid: “Did you hear anything last night?”
Me: “No, I didn’t hear a thing.”
Kid: “I heard a loud noise…it woke me up. I thought that maybe that’s why the cops were here.”
The kid looks at me imploringly.
Me: “Yeah….well I am a pretty sound sleeper soooo…”
Kid: “So, why were the cops here?”
Me: “Look man, I am really sorry but I didn’t see any cops…at all.”
Kid: “Yeah, well, ‘cause last night I heard a really loud noise. Did you hear it?”
Me: “I…No I didn’t hear a thing. I slept right through the night.”
Kid: “But why were the cops here?”
Me: “Look, I didn’t see any cops. So I have no idea. And I didn’t hear anything last night.”
Kid: “Yeah, it woke me up. Did you hear it?”
At that point I begin to worry, there is no exit strategy for this type of conversation…it becomes an infinite loop driven by undeniable madness.
Me: “I heard nothing.”
Kid: “Well it woke me up and I thought that maybe the cops…”
Me: “I never saw any cops, I never heard any sounds. I really don’t know what to tell you.”
Kid: “There were people outside my bedroom window last night.”
“Possible” I think to myself “but highly unlikely.”
Me: “Well…that’s scary. Did you tell your folks?”
Kid: “Yeah there were three people outside my bedroom window.”
Me: “Three of them….outside your bedroom window?”
Kid: “Yeah it was three girls and they were there and they were naked.”
I think to myself “Well that’s probably the average high school guys dream”, and with this new information I can officially judge this lad’s story a complete fabrication.
Me: “….Nice.”
Kid: “But I’m 17 and I am too mature for girls. I was into girls when I was a kid but I am too mature now for girls.”
The kid regards me as if waiting for me to say something and I just stare back. I am trying to decide whether the presence of a girl weeding with me or the wedding ring on my finger, should be the most compelling clue to this kid that apparently I don’t share his sentiment.*
Kid: “Yeah, my three friends all have girlfriends but they are too young and immature they shouldn’t be dating.”
The kid looks at me for confirmation.
Me: “Look man, I don’t know your friends so I am in no position to evaluate their relative fitness for dating relationships.”
The kid looks at me with distrust and I raise my palms in a helpless “What the hell did you expect gesture?”
Kid: “Well I am 17 so I am too mature for a girlfriend.”
Me: “Hey, if that helps you sleep at night.”
Kid: “Well last night, did you here anything?”
Me: “Nope! No noises, no cops and as it so happens my bedroom window was not graced by a parcel of naked chicks.”
Kid: “I rode down here because I saw cops.”
Me: “Indeed. Well I have to get back….you know weeding and all.”
I turn to go
Kid: “But WHY were the cops here?”
Me: “If they show up again I’ll be the first to ask.”
Kid: But did you hear anything last night?”
Me: “No. Have a good day.”
The kid mumbles something unintelligible and rides off up the street.

When I told Ryan this story he began to laugh and asked if I had some sort of sign on my back that invites crazy people to talk to me. I thought about it and, yes, I do attract the crazies. Let’s, just for kicks, review the highlights.
Ferret-loving drunks: where cheap wine and weasels meet.
Crazy women who want to use animals as punishment: why abuse just children or animals when we can do both at the same time!
The effortlessly confused, picture illiterate people.
That homeless guy who insisted I owed him two dollars because I “lost a bet” about whether or not he could remove his prosthetic eye.
The other homeless guy who told the junior higher in my charge to “bleed me like a stuck pig” if I were an adult.
That guy in the waiting room who chose me out of five other people to address a highly cryptic somewhat incriminating philosophical non-sequitor immediately following which he went back to reading his book and ignoring me.
My high school stalker; thanks for the awkward memories, and scores of guilt trip laden letters.
Those are just a few of my many experiences with the less mentally settled segment of our society. But hey, at least I never got felt up in Santa Monica. (That’s right buddy, all of us got ammo.)