Crazy Lady #2

Mary is a wonderful lady that works in my apartment building; but she is crazy. How do I know this? Well she is lovingly referred to as "Crazy Mary" by the residents. Her responsibility is making sure the building is clean and tidy. She rakes the yard, vacuums the halls, and sweeps the floors. She goes about her job with conviction and dedication; finding a sense of pride in the work she does. She once told my visiting parents that she loved her job. She had to make sure the place looked good for all the residents. "They go out and work all day. It is my responsibility to make sure their homes are nice." Mary is a wonderful woman and our building is lucky to have her. But as she has become a regular element of my living arrangement, sometimes I forget to warn visitors of her presence. I am reminded of this oversight when my friends start animately talking about "this woman" in my building. The combination of their wide eyed expression and heightened verbal energy lend me to interrupt their story with a reassuring, "Oh you met Crazy Mary." Conversations with Mary are disjointed; starting at odd moments (like just after you have turned a corner and are out of eyesight) and ending with a prolonged awkward pause.

Mary has a couple of utility closets in the building, places to keep her vacuum and supplies. Apparently it is also home to one of the most diversely prolific collections of stuffed animals from the 60's-80's. The closet teems with these plush creatures, each with a name and story. Occasionally, these cuddly cuties go on adventures. They sneak around the building and end up in unexpected locations. They may provide security as sentries on the stair landings, conversation at the laundry room table, or engage in a building-wide game of hide and go seek. It becomes a rather enjoyable act discovering the new locations of her animals.

Stuffed animals adventures are one way in which Mary displays her eccentric disposition. She also decorated the laundry room which, has another closet. The walls are dotted with an eclectic combination of sci-fi trinkets, airline calendars, cute animal posters, and plastic flower pots. On the closet door a red sign with white letters reads, "I love animals." Inside are more past treasures. An alien mask without eyes, Star Trek posters, and a stuffed parrot hangs from the ceiling (although his location may be more indicative of an adventure he is on than a permanent living locale).

Mary dresses simply, muted colors, classic cuts, and old jeans. Her sneakers bear the marks of her labor; grass stains, drops of wood polish, dust and dirt. Her mousy gray hair stands straight like the whisks of your grandmother's broom. Her face and hands devoid of embellishment; no make-up, polish, or color. She withholds expression from her face, only her voice signaling minimal variations in energy and excitement.

But to really understand Mary, you need to have a conversation with her. She will begin with the weather, but after that you struggle to keep up as she takes you on a magically disconnected journey. A recent conversation took me from a simple discussion of the warm weather and beautiful rays, to the removal of the fun forest (a local amusement park at the space needle), the current lack of approval for our mayor, her joy in the killing of a cop killer (cause he was a bad man and needed to die), and lastly to the abolishment of NASA. This is where I got really excited, for I had never talked about space with Mary. She concluded our five minute conversation by expressing her hopes that we discover aliens with an alien planet who are nice and have gold so that we can mine it at get ourselves out of this recession.

I laughed so hard when I got inside my apartment. Mary represents a crazy woman with an amazing degree of creativity. I am tempted to write the President and inform him of this surefire way to rebound the global economy. Thank you Mary.