Crazy on the Outside

So I'm walking to work today, cold, bleary eyed and grumpy, and remain standing only by tightly gripping the promise of caffeinated sanity in my right hand. I take a swig from my o-so-tasty Clover coffee bucket (today is another fancy, non-pronounceable brew from Kenya), breathe in deeply and begin the treacherous trek across Market. I "deftly" maneuver through hordes of groggy commuters, dodge several old ladies running for the 30, and arrive safely on the opposite of the main thoroughfare. I breathe a sigh of relief; another morning passed with the inevitable bus-to-face smash incident avoided. (Seriously, walk with me to work sometime... you'll see.)

The sounds of a raised voice off to my left somehow manage to penetrate the fog that is my morning brain, and I swing my eyes ever so slightly off their straight ahead "I'll stab you if you run into me course". While I'm not yet capable of translating the gibberish speak, my eyebrows just about raise up off of my forehead at the sight just next to me. An incredibly grubby man, shouting something utterly unintelligible to no one in particular, RUNS into the middle of rush hour traffic (I'm talking oncoming, green-light here), JUMPS into the air ninja-style, and does a flying kick-leap into the side of a cab. Upon landing he kicks the cab door a few more times before walking ever so calmly back to the sidewalk. The cab drives on, the world returns to normal-speed and I head into work, shaking my head.

...Let's pause for a minute to note: You can't walk more than ten feet in San Francisco without encountering a person who either IS homeless, or appears to be. I'm not sure why. Maybe all those biz-school folks that founded sites like www.tradeairgetrich.com in '00 never found another job when their company went belly up. Perhaps the mild NorCal climate holds a high level attractiveness when one is outside constantly. Maybe its beggar-chic season and no one told me. Seriously - no clue. Maybe a topic for another blog post... back to the point

To my knowledge... the perpetrator of the kicking was never in the cab. I never saw a door open or shut (granted, I wasn't really paying attention), and the gibberish didn't seem to be about money or cab drivers. The man was clearly NOT in the middle of the street the whole time... I saw him run into traffic. As such, I'm pretty sure the cab didn't hit the man just before I started paying attention. Heck, I'd ninja-kick a cab if it ran into me. So, what gives?

Now, there are all sorts of vaguely plausible explanations for this behavior - the most likely of which is the man, who probably lives on the street, has a mental disorder that somehow compels him to shout, kick cars, and perform any other number of socially unacceptable acts. Sad, but true. But setting the "oh that's sad" factor aside for a moment, I couldn't help but be thankful, even if just for a second, that at least one person wore their crazy on the outside... right where I could see (and therefore avoid) it.

Granted, I assume everyone I meet has some degree of crazy. In my head, sanity is more like a sliding scale than a binary function; we're all constantly moving up and down the line, and the definitions along the line vary by individual interpretation. Yet even with that working theory, I'm constantly shocked/horrified/saddened/confused when someone I've known for years slides waaaaaaaaay farther toward the nutty side than I'd ever imagined possible (and my tolerance is pretty darn high). The emotional drains from such a situation are typically huge, unavoidable, and always manage to occur when you least expect it.

*Shrug* As callow as it may sound, some part of me appreciates the blatant (if unintentional) honesty of shouting in the streets. At least then I can walk around.

Note: No particularly crazy family or friend situation was in mind when writing this post. Its just one of those things you think about when walking to work, half-asleep, and see someone kicking a cab in the middle of the street. All hail pre-caffeinated revelations.