Crazy Carl

Does being homeless make people crazy, or does being crazy make people homeless?
I'm sure the answer is "both."

As I watch people brush by the homeless on the streets, fiercely avoiding eye contact, pretending they can't hear them clearly talking to them, it occurs to me that it must be an incredibly dehumanizing experience.  Having almost everyone you encounter pretend they can't see you.  I start to feel a little crazy if someone ignores (or doesn't hear) me once; how bad must it get after days?  Weeks?

Years?

Today I met Crazy Carl.  His name is probably not Carl.  I did not ask his name, because I thought that could lead to a handshake, and frankly I didn't want to touch his hand.  And graded on the homeless curve, he was actually pretty sane.  Possibly just a little drunk.

He asked if I would give him a few pennies if he could tell a joke that made me laugh.  I told him he was on, he told me a joke, I chuckled and gave him some change.  I probably should have walked away at that point, but instead I started chatting about how if I hadn't bought the chai I was carrying, I wouldn't have any change.  That started an hour-plus conversation that was very, very hard to get out of.

I suspect that as a result of being ignored all the time, a lot of homeless people seem really chatty once you start talking to them.  At first this was cool, but I wasn't looking for a conversation that lasted as long as an episode of Star Trek.  The thing is, I couldn't get out, because I always want to find a decent break in the conversation--and he didn't leave any.  He'd be talking about immune systems, say "but like I was saying," and then launch into something he hadn't been saying.  About religion.

Still, there was much of intrigue, which I will turn into a series of blog posts.  Not one long blog post, because studies show that on the internet people tend not to read long things.