It's time for a break.

Well, folks, it's about that time. Like everyone else on these here internets, I'm going to be taking a break. I'm just not sure where this blog is...

Just kidding.

I am going on vacation next week, though, so posting will probably be sporadic at best (And you said I couldn't learn something by watching Clueless! Use it in a sentence today.)

The good news is that I will be in at least three different states. And you know what that means! Opportunity for out of town crazies.

I just realized I never told you about the crazy I met in the airport on my way to Nashville, because I was so caught up in the breast situation.

For some unknown reason, my flight was canceled on the way to Nashville. Of course, I was already on my way to the airport when I found out. The next flight out was completely booked, so I ended up on an evening flight, with about five hours to spare in the airport.

I found the nearest bar, pulled up a stool and ordered a nice, cold, tall beer and geared myself up for some serious people watching. And boy did I get my money's worth.

From across the aisle, I see this man. Have you seen Spaceballs? If not, stop reading and go watch it. Seriously. What's wrong with you? If you have, do you remember Jim. J. Bullock as Prince Valium?



Now that we're all on the same page, I can tell you that this man in the airport totally had Prince Valium's haircut, but with bright orange hair. Well, and without the hat, unfortunately. He was wearing a purple velvet jacket, though.

He was walking toward my bar (like I own the place) with a cane and it appeared that someone had beaten the everloving shit out of him. He had cuts and scrapes all over his face, several bruises, and he was walking with a serious limp. He was also holding a Crown Royal bag.

He walked into the bar, and I could see the two men on either side of the only remaining seat thinking, "Please don't sit here, please don't sit here, please don't -- oh shit. He sat here."

He put his Crown Royal bag on the bar and propped his cane up on his stool and ordered a beer. The entire bar was nearly silent, as we all stared at this man. The bartender brought him his beer and he sipped it and sat there like no one was looking at him.

We all sort of went back about our business. I was staring out the window at passersby when I heard a loud, "KKKKCHHCHCHSSSHHHH!"

I turned to see the strange man looking dejectedly at the ground. Everyone was just staring, so I got up and walked over to see what happened. As I rounded the corner, all I could see all over the floor were nickels. See, in his Crown Royal bag? He had his entire life savings in nickels, apparently.

I got down on the floor and started gathering nickels. He was shaking like a little leaf and just sort of in shock. He had also dropped several bottles of pills. I scooped up the nickels and he held the Crown Royal bag open for me, as I dropped them inside. We got the mess all cleaned up and I handed him his meds and he sat back down.

The bar was completely silent. Also, I'm pretty sure the bartender was thinking, "Please don't pay me in nickels, please don't pay me in nickels."

I went back to my seat after I made sure he was secure on his stool. The noise level rose and everyone went about their business until, "KKKKCHHCHCHSSSHHHH!"

He dropped the nickels again. Once again, I helped him pick them up while most everyone else just stared. We repeated the process about twice more while he was still in the bar. He couldn't seem to hold on to anything.

After he paid his tab (I'm assuming not in nickels), he got up and limped his way out of the bar. Again, the bar was silent. Until I caught the eye of one of the guys who had been sitting next to the man and said, "Wonder who kicked his ass?" We all sort of started talking about it, like a bunch of strangers who have all been involved in a traumatic event.

I looked out the window and saw him slowly limping his way across the aisle to the gate when, "KKKKCHHCHCHSSSHHHH!" He dropped his bag of nickels again. In the middle of the walkway. Nickels are rolling everywhere, his medicine is on the ground. He dropped to his knees in a panic, meanwhile people all around him are slipping and swerving to get around him. He almost got beaned with at least one suitcase.

I rushed out in the aisle to help him out. His hands were too shaky to really do any good. We gathered up the change and his meds and I walked him over to the gate. He looked at me with these sad eyes and said, "Thank you. I want you to have this." And he handed me a nickel. A NICKEL. I almost burst out laughing on the spot, but instead I solemnly thanked him and went back to the bar.

He dropped his nickels two more times before they finally sat him down in a wheelchair. I felt like I had done my god Samaritan deeds for...the YEAR, so I let someone else handle it. I really wish I had asked him what happened to his face. It's probably better to just make up stories in my head.

What good deeds have you done for crazies?

[Author's Note: This story is 100% true. I promise. I couldn't make this kind of crap up. I'm not that creative.]