I wasn’t even making $12k when I was in college. I was broke with a capital I-ain’t-got-no-money.
So I did the public mental health clinic thing once a week. Some of the clientele didn’t even try to act normal…maybe they couldn’t.
There was this HUGE–woman must have been 6’4″–black lady sitting in front of me and she was talking to herself. I had my book. I ignored her conversation.
Then this guy I knew from college came in and sat a seat down from the woman. I wasn’t friends with the guy but we had random conversations over coffee and cigarettes about being bat shit crazy; he was a Delusional Paranoid Schizophrenic.
The woman started rocking a tiny bit when the guy took his seat and, instead of finding a magazine to read, the guy stared at the woman.
“Stop telling them to go after me!” he hollered at her.
There was one seat between the two of them. One. Shit was about to get real.
This went on for about ten minutes. The woman picked up the rocking a bit more. Her mumbling got a bit louder. The guy got more agitated.
Then the guy picked up the chair between the two of them and threw it across the room. Across a room of about 30 people.
I was pretty damn sure the woman was going to stand up and beat the guy into the ground. Instead she got up, still muttering, and left. Didn’t say a word to anyone but herself.
Now you know why I will never go to another public mental health clinic.
