Brace yourselves. Yesterday was an odd day and I was too tired to write about it last night. Just a warning that this may be a bit longer than usual.

Work.

No, I did not see LBC and she is right. Since I have decided that I will definitely talk to him, I will not see him for a very long time. Because, Life, thy name is Bitch.

But that is not the reason was yesterday was odd ("odd" here means "bad" but I hate whining so I'm using a different word to lessen the complain-effect).

Every Tuesday, we have a group come in from a home. All of the residents are in their late teens/early to mid twenties. I have no idea what kind of home it is since none of people are obviously mentally challenged. You have to talk to them for a minute or two to realize that there is something different. I'm thinking maybe it's place for those with mild mental disabilities and they're living there until they learn to live on their own...? Does that make sense? I've volunteered at some places similar to that, but this particular home's name doesn't sound familiar. I am rambling about this now because if I knew the specifics of the program, maybe I would know how to respond to things they say to me.

I am officially ahead of myself.

Anyway, last night I was helping a guy put an item on hold and also find some art books. I was having a problem placing the hold, so I told him to come back after he found his book and I would speak to my supervisor about the hold. Fast forward fifteen minutes, he's back and I start entering the information for the hold (I should note that holds usually take only a minute if the patron knows what they want, but this one was complicated for a few reasons that would require a lengthy diatribe about the Inner Workings of Circulation). He's flipping through that book and chatting about being an artist. I'm offering a few words here and there and telling him what the artist used whenever he found a painting he like.

Then he finds a drawing of a half naked woman and says, "These are my favorite kinds of paintings." I glance down quickly and keep typing.

Then he finds another picture of a half-naked woman and says, "I'm going to draw you like that." Again, I glance down quickly and keep typing. I finished a couple seconds later and he thanked me. A lot. Then I ran to the back to box DVDs.

OK. That exchange made me feel bad. Sick, almost. Mr. Creepy had said something similar to me a few months ago and I didn't hesitate to report him to my supervisor. But, for some reason, I didn't say a damn word to anyone. I actually found myself thinking, "He doesn't know any better." Which is wrong, wrong, wrong. Even if he doesn't know any better he needs to learn, right? I should have told the person in charge of the group or at least my supervisor, but I didn't.

Fuck. I'm almost ashamed of myself. But, still.... I don't know. I have a couple hours before I go into work, so I'll think about it some more.

Next odd thing.

After work, Vicky and I went out to the diner. About two blocks from my house, I noticed this little old lady standing at the intersection. She was just standing there and looking around and she just seemed very disoriented. I should mention that it was also 10:30 at night. Then the lady started walking in the opposite direction we were going, so Vicky turned the car around and we followed her. She was kind of staggering and kept looking around like she had no idea where she was and was completely scared as a result.

Vicky turned the car around again and we pulled up on the grass next to her. I rolled down the window and said, "Ma'am?" No response. Again, louder, "Ma'am? Do you need any help?" Still no response.

So I called the non-emergency police number as Vicky turned the car around yet again in what would be one of many possibly illegal U-turns. As Vicky did her best to remain close enough to the woman to keep an eye on her without causing major traffic problems, I talked to the very nice operator and explained what was going on. The operator said a "unit had been dispatched" and I remained on the phone with her for the next twenty minutes giving a play-by-play of what the little old lady was doing. The staggering was getting worse, she kept stopping and looking around and is she even wearing shoes?

Interesting fact. In the twenty minutes it took for an officer to show up, two more cops drove by and one observant gentleman pulled over no more than two feet from the lady to fix an antenna on his goddamn Camaro. In the words of Vicky, "Must be nice to not give a shit about anybody."

Finally, a cop showed up and talked to the lady. Vicky and I were lurking in the parking lot across the street, watching, and even from that distance, you could tell that the lady was very confused and the officer was struggling to communicate with her. We didn't wait to see what would happen. I hung up with the very nice operator and we went to the diner.

There are a lot of assisted living and Alzheimer's homes in my neighborhood and when I worked downtown, a couple times a month, someone would come by and ask if we had seen an escapee.

I hope she's OK.

Anyway, I kinda feel like I'm going to barf and I kinda want a cigarette, so I'm going to go take care of that.

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