Psychiatric Ward.

Oct 20, 2008 23:46

He's sitting too close to us it's making me uncomfortable. We stand and I am tempted to record him talking about ducks and ponds and menimmumummmerr the English language is failing him. I'm scared to death he'll hear the beeping of the machine and that too much mayhem even for my liking will ensue.

Try to stall a minute inside by going in the gift shop and search for another pair of hand knitted (by patient?) slippers rather than join him in the elevator. Instead, find a set of three thumbless mittens, all joined together at the top via crochet line and pom pom.

Strange.

The lady behind the counter bursts out in a rupture of laughter strong enough to wake the dead, and I think she's reacting to my puzzled look. She's not. She informs me she's been reading the jokes in the paper.

He's in the elevator and introduces himself as M.M (Michael Moore? Mandy Moore? Mahatma Mahndi?), though if it was his choice it would be David Allen Christoper Michael Joseph or something.

Sheldon wonders how sick he is compared to him.

Also replies to my inquiries about him contemplating asking the 20 year old bobbed hair cutie on his floor out, that she'd probably put up with him taking her on the bus.

We laugh quite a bit over this.
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