Exactly 100 Percent Crazy

Some people partially crack when they are out from the pressures of their parents, there's no doubt about it.  It's not that something breaks, but more that something that was always there surfaces when the ideals of their parents and home life goes suddenly absent.  The first year of university is a doozy and a friend of mine was recently on the receiving end of the madness it sometimes brings.  He had effectively survived the barrage that is year one and was into his second, but the young woman who stars in this tale was just getting started.

Bert (my friend) and the girl (lets call her Bradley) met at a house party near campus in September.  They apparently had a fun evening chatting and connecting over common ground of being from the same town.  I think when you are new to the environment you feel a strong presence of the hierarchy of years, whether it exists or not.  Much like high school, this hierarchy is most strongly facilitated by the second years or grade tens, who think they are so much better than first years, but once you get to the upper years you don't really care who is around or how old anyone is.  Bradley fell strongly for Bert in only the one casual evening they had together. I think the seeming authority of sophomore to freshman played a role in how she felt, as I hope you will see.  The evening did not become physical but they did exchange numbers and held the hope of hanging out in the near future.

Bert was excited at the prospect of this flirty first year as well.  It was not just one way.  He had heard of her back in Barrie before their meeting and was certainly curious, but Bert is Bert.  In his Bert nature, during their scattered communication, he also became increasingly friendly with a would-be fling from the summer just past.  There was still time for Bradley -- she lived right there on campus after all.  The two met a few times during September and October.  Bert assures me they did not hook up but instead just chatted. He sometimes helped her with her chemistry homework.  That was all.  Things stopped with Bradley when Bert texted her saying things had gotten serious with Summer girl and he wouldn't see her anymore.

Of course things did not truly stop with Bradley though, or we wouldn't have a story.  She seemed alright with the news at first, but not long after she texted Bert asking if he wanted to come over for homework again — no funny business.  Bert ignored this because he is a smart man with girlfriend.  Bradley followed up with “Never mind”, then “I’m going out tonight.”  Bert didn’t think too much of it beyond being a little odd after closing the door on their solely flirtatious relationship.

Not too long later, from Bradley, a couple more random texts: “Do you have my glasses?” Of course he didn’t. Did she even have glasses? Then “I just aced my midterm!” Good for you, but still Bert ignored her.  The big pitch that put her in a new realm deemed “Crazy” was also early on.  She had some reason to believe she still had a chance with Bert but it was squashed by reality. She said something along the lines:

“I was going to have sex with you.”

“You missed your chance.”

“Don’t try getting with me again.”  

Bert still gave no response and by this time he was telling his friends about it.  One on particular night while Bert was with Summer, his phone buzzed a rapid eight times in a row.  Although he had explained the circumstance to Summer, she still was no less bothered by this obsessive younger girl.  

Over the next six months, Bradley would reach ONE HUNDRED CONSECUTIVE TEXTS to Bert with no response.  She went through the entire spectrum, ranging from "Come over and fuck me" to "Never text me again" but they were usually closer to the former.  Mostly it was long periods of silence with bursts of messages related to her mood or random statements about her life.  She even generously sprinkled photos throughout. It became quite the topic amongst close friends;  we would frequently ask for the updated count and Bert would share the most recent outburst.

Come the spring, Bert’s relationship with Summer has run its course and ended bittersweet.  It was around the time of exams at this point.  Almost summer once more. And remember, Bert is Bert.  He was looking for prospects.  Among the finalists, no one looked as promising as multiple sexy pictures and constant attachment, plus there was still that initial curiosity.  When the mandatory Summer grieving period was over (two weeks), Bert finally texted Bradley back.

From mid-April to mid-August, Bert and Bradley maintained a vigorous, strictly sexual relationship.  For if you dig yourself a hundred texts deep, you don’t stand in much of a position to negotiate: you’re either interested or you’re not.  I’m not saying I condone this perspective but it’s the one Bert held.  The poor girl was consenting her own deprecation.  She would text late at night: “Come pick me up and we can do it quickly in your truck” and the like.  Bert wouldn’t let her call him babe.  They didn't meet each-other’s parents.  Who knows what she wanted but that is what she got.  It was unhealthy.  Bert knew it.  He heard it from his friends, and from his head— I mean brain.  He had to cut it off one day after a final roll in the hay, but we can all guess how Bradley took it; the most famous of her responses at this point:  “Come over one more time. I won’t even talk.”  

When their communication was truly over and the dust had settled what did we learn from the situation?  I honestly don’t know.  I learnt that men can sometimes hold equal power over women that they certainly hold over us.  I learnt that girls can be truly insane (and likely are).  Bert learnt that he had a lot of sex.  He learnt he had a good story.  Sadly, Bradley learnt that if you harass someone in a form that reaches a least three digits, you can get what you want.  I guess she learnt patience and hopefully something about her damaged soul.  I don’t know why she saw Bert the way she did.  He’s a great guy, but I really want to learn more about her perspective.  Was it because he is older?  Or had she just passed the line and had nothing to lose at some point?  Maybe she was just massively immature and troubled.

Wear protection out there.

You’re welcome,

B.F. Greenough, aka,

Chief Hanky,  Persistent Pooch (witness)

Appendix - Verbatim

Of the 100:

"My dog has cancer :((("

During the Summer:

"Today I decided to ride my bike and I got hit by a car like 20 feet from my house on the rare chance i was pregnant I’m definitely not now so theres a positive lol"

"My parents are gone for the night, come fuck me for 1 final and last time?"

$2.92 Per Hour

Three years ago, in the summer of 2014, I was deeply infatuated.  Infatuation is a dangerous affliction as it can lead to some irrational and unadvisable decisions.  The source of my bewitchment was a woman.  Let's call her Charlotte.  I viewed her for the longest time with only futile idolization.  Like a boy views his female camp counsellor or swim instructor.  It was a "if only I was older" situation.  That was, until she showed reciprocating behaviour.  I heard she was jealous of the girl I was with at the time. I tried my best to use this information to my advantage, but like I said -- unadvisable decisions followed.  What I should have done was kept my cool, felt out the situation, and proceeded with caution.  But like a well trained dog, I came running at the slightest whistle, leaving a nice girl in my tracks and dust.  That is what infatuation does.  You do not expect your camp counsellor to return years later and take your hand, but if they do, you drop everything and let them lead the way.  It is not what you should do, but you will.

Believe it or not, this story is not about Charlotte.  This story is about Thomas and myself.  Thomas is the genius mentioned in two stories prior.  You see, at this time, my friend Thomas was extremely unemployed and as a result, extremely desperate for money.

It was a Friday evening I believe.  I was going to a party, and Thomas was going to a party.  They were two separate parties but we were together before hand.  I looked Thomas in the eyes and I told him who was at this party and why I was going.  I said "Thomas, I have work in the morning and I will not get enough sleep tonight.  Charlotte is at the party and I know I will stay too late."  That is the irrational bit coming through.  But I knew Thomas.  I knew his situation, and his desperation.  "If I text you at midnight, and give the word, can you leave your party early, get some sleep and drive me in the morning?"  Of course he would -- for the right price... and because he's a good friend.  He understood the curse I was under.

So I arrived, and I'd guess it was around 10:00pm.  Thomas was at his party and Charlotte was there at mine.  Gorgeous.  It was my time.  Foolishly obvious in my admiration, I was practically drooling from the get-go.  Charlotte was one of my only contacts at this party and that didn't make my situation easier.  There was no backup plan, so I talked with her.  When she left I would find someone random to pass enough time until I could speak to her again.  Idiot.  It was midnight and from an outsider's perspective, it was time to pack my bags and go home.  But from my eyes, it was still Charlotte.  It was the impossible in front of me, so I sent Thomas the word.  I'd pay him to drive me to work in the morning.  Two more amazing hours with Charlotte.  She talked and I stared.  She laughed and I dreamed.  2:00 am came and it was time to go home.  She was still there, but my sleep was less than three hours now.  Few battles are won in a night.

Thomas was at my house asleep.  I slumped in bed for the remaining time until our alarm.  Exhausted,  and with nothing to show for my time, I was stupidly still optimistic.  We awoke at 4:45, and got in my car.  Thomas drove so I could sleep in the passenger seat.  Why was I sleeping on my way to work?  Because the drive was over two hours long, to a small town in the North.  Thomas was a champ.

I worked like a zombie in the air conditioned produce section of the grocery store and checked on him after three hours of being in the parking lot.  There he was, reading and waiting.  It was hot on the tarmac.  At lunch I returned to him naked and sweating as the high sun had heated my van to frying temperatures.  He told me he was going to go swim in the pond across the street.  When I was done my shift, his hair was wet and his underwear was hanging in the back. He said it was great.

In the end, that man waited eight and a half hours for me to work a minimum wage shift in a grocery store.  He drove me home, completing a twelve hour favour, and happily took his $35.  You are a legend, I am a sucker, and we are both fools.

I ended up with Charlotte because of my blind love and dedication?  No.  Despite my pursuit, which holds many other stories, all reciprocation fizzled quickly.  Fixation pushes people away like a fanatic screaming on the street corner.

As always, you're welcome,

B.F. Greenough, aka,

Chief Hanky, The Reckless Romantic

School Runnings

It’s been a while since I wrote a blog post but I was recently reminded of a story from a couple years ago.  My friend Nick paid me a visit and told me about the time he and James went exploring in our high school after hours.

They were out for a late night bike cruise when they decided to go see if they could get on top of our high school, to take some pictures.  After leaving the bikes at the back of the school, a quick fence climb and small jump seemed to be all it took to get onto the lower rooftop.  

They climbed the various ladders and pathways to get to the side of the school that overlooked the downtown Barrie night scape.  They stood on the edge of the rooftop and watched the cars drive by.  They looked down at all the parking lots to see that they were empty before exploring the rest of the rooftops.  For a seemingly simple layout of hallways on the inside —a double-decker square with a courtyard in the middle — the rooftops were multileveled and complex. 

At one corner of the school, there was a railing wrapped around a large trapdoor.  And because the roof was mostly unexciting in itself, this door warranted further investigation.  It was a thick slab of metal with a slender handle to one side.  There was a limb of the handle made to hold a padlock but the slot was empty.  Now that was interesting.  Very promising for Nick and James.  At first it seemed it didn’t have a padlock because the handle was so stiff to move anyways.  The boys wondered if it had been welded shut, but a couple hard pulls and kicks turned this night from a bird’s eye photoshoot of downtown, to a real crouch in the dark adventure.

The two boys stood above the ladder that descended between them into the pitch-black beneath.  Nick held the flashlight and James went down first.  Once they were both at the bottom it was very tight with vents and perhaps a water heater.  They had to duck and move things out of the way before finding the wall and the light switch in the cramped storage closet.  A door was next.  Unlocked, they both knew, as they were on the inside.  But it seemed very possible that there were nighttime custodial staff roaming the halls.  “Just a crack first” James reassured Nick.  They peered out to see the familiar math hall, lit only by glowing exit signs and one ceiling light at the far end. With necessary hesitation, the boys moved into the hallway and looked around.  More fluorescent ceiling bulbs lit up the perpendicular hallways but they too were empty.  The two decided to go downstairs.  They came upon a set of doors that led to the most popular cross-road at the school but it was very bright and discouraged their movement.  “I want to get a picture of the office” James said.  So they went the other way and found themselves at another set of doors.  Through the windows they could see the lobby of the school, front offices included, well lit but vacant.  “I’m staying here” said Nick.  “I’m just getting one picture” said James.  So he cracked the door open, scurried along, pulled out his phone, snapped one picture of the “Main Office” at 12:37am. At the exact same moment he captured the photo: BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP a quick repeating alarm started its warning.  James pocketed his phone and was back at the door in a flash, only to see Nick already mounting the stairs at the other end of the hall.  Nick was leaving a man behind. 

Up a flight of stairs, into the storage closet, squeeze behind the vents, hurry up the ladder, slam down the hatch, yank the handle closed, jump to the lower roof, slide down one more ladder, jump to the fence, scale back down it, bolt to the road bikes, and ride out like nothing happened.  Nick figured from “BEEP” to street, their escape took less than 100 seconds.  They lingered out of range to see if any police came in the coming minutes, but none did.

Because they didn’t get caught, it wasn’t a crime, it was just a hell of a way to start a summer. 

You’re welcome,

B.F. Greenough, aka,

Chief Hanky, The Summer Sleuth