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I’m a loony magnet; I have been my whole life. If there’s a certified nut-job within a hundred miles, that son-of-a-bitch will find me every time.
By way of example, here’s what happened to me in a mall in Albuquerque, New Mexico, in 1998. (Full disclosure: true story.)
I’m strolling through the mall with a friend—a gentleman who’s a local police officer. I had the day off from my job as an RN with a home health agency, and he was also free that day. So we decide to take in a movie.
Strolling through the mall, talking with my friend, I’m not paying attention to those around me. This was a time in this country when you didn’t worry about every person you pass in a mall being a mass shooter or spreading Covid Cooties.
Anyway…
We’re walking around, killing time by window shopping, and generally bullshitting before the movie. Apparently, my loony magnet kicked in. It’s a major bitch because I get no warning that it’s activated, so there’s no preparing for whatever’s coming.
Out of nowhere, this male person is suddenly in my face, both hands grabbing the front of my shirt at the collar. He obviously hasn’t bathed in months. (I base this observation on the smell of my nose hairs burning from the stench of ammonia and body odor assailing me.)
His fetid breath blasts into my face; he’s shaking me and tossing me around, screaming, “They’re here! I saw them! You have to hide! They’re here! They’ll kill us all! You have to hide!”
My friend, who had gone to the restroom, comes rushing out from the side corridor. I yell at him, “Get this motherfucker off me!”
Which my friend does, in true heroic cop fashion. He has the loony on the floor and is incapacitated in no time. He uses his phone to call his fellow police officers while I take a seat on a bench and try not to shit myself.
“What the fuck?” my friend says.
“Loony magnet,” I reply. “Told ya.”
He looks at the now-incoherently mumbling vagabond on the floor. “This is Crazy Nick. He never comes to this side of Albuquerque. Never goes near a mall. He’s scared of a crowd of more than three people.”
I shrug and light a cigarette with shaking hands. “Loony magnet. A powerful thing.”
I did not press charges on the poor thing. He was placed with adult social services and institutionalized, I learned later. And before anyone busts my chops over it, I quit smoking in 1999.
So, what brought on the telling of this story?
I am working to increase my social media presence. ‘Those-in-the-know’ tell me if I want to build a fictional writing career, I need a social media presence and a trove of followers.
Twitter is a fun platform that I’m learning. But it is already apparent that the loony magnet is still alive and functional.
*Sigh*
Where’s the “block” feature on this app?