He stared back at me with this blank expression on his dim-wit mug. And he kept repeating in this high-pitched squealing voice: “How ya doin’? How ya doin’? What’s your name? What’s your name?” (did I mention he’s completely nuts?)
I’m generally in a bad mood in the morning (waking up to 300 hangovers a year will do that to a guy). And I’m ESPECIALLY in a bad mood when I’m sitting in a stall of a public restroom trying to take my morning shit in peace and quiet. And all of a sudden there’s this EXPLOSION of water-flushing sounds. This cascading cacophony of water. As this lunatic frolics from toilet to toilet to urinal to urinal. Flushing every one of them. Over and over and over. All the while letting out this high-pitched giggle of excited lunatic laughter to let you know he is really getting his jollies from the whole toilet-flushing experience.
Needless to say. The dude’s a little peculiar.
So now it’s a couple days later. And I’m waiting to see how the Serial Flusher reacts to my angry outburst. Over the years I’ve been in more than my fair share of these kind of ugly confrontations (it’s one of the unfortunate bi-products of life on the street scene). And usually, about 90% of the time, the other person wisely realizes that it is in his best self-interests to avoid all further contact with that Ace Backwords fellow for the foreseeable future. But, unfortunately, 10% of the time they turn into these on-going wars that can last for months and even years. Which I dread. Because it drains a lot of my energy. And it sours the quality of my daily life, never knowing if I might get jumped by some nut at any given moment.
The problem with dealing with the Serial Flusher is two-fold. 1.) He’ a big, burly guy. So he can do some damage. And 2.) He’s completely nuts. So it’s impossible to predict how he’ll react. It’s difficult to gauge the logic of a man who’s biggest thrill in life is to flush toilets over and over, day after day, for decades at a stretch.
So now I’m waiting to see how this plays out. The Serial Flusher has basically been living on the Berkeley campus for the last ten years. He mostly sits by himself all day, staring off into space, making these contorted expressions on his face, and emitting these high-pitched, squealing animal sounds under his breath. In all these years I’ve never seen him talk to another person. He’s blandly normal-looking on the surface. So mostly nobody even notices him. Since he almost never actually does anything. It’s weird how some people can blend into the crowd, no matter how nutty they are. And he usually restricts his toilet-flushing parties to off-hours of the day when almost nobody else is around.
All types in this world, huh? Unfortunately.