Here’s how kook BPNurse shows everyone she’s a kook: She goes to an appointment in a big building, gets turned around in there but doesn’t realize it, goes out to her car and can’t find it…..then panics and calls the police to report it stolen.
It was hilarious when my mother did the same thing way back when she was in HER mid-50s. Today, not so much. I’m a tad sensitive about my cognitive deficits anyway, and this was a blunder of the highest magnitude. I mean, what fool loses her own car in a parking lot? Somehow, a nondescript medium-blue Ford Taurus of early 2000’s vintage doesn’t seem like a car anyone with half a brain would want to steal….but the only other alternative was that it had been towed, quite possibly because I was parked between two disabled-parking stalls.
My first call was to my husband: “I don’t know where the ^%#*@&! car is,” I told him, the first faint stirrings of anxiety beginning to bubble up beneath the protective layer of medications. “I’m calling the police. I think the people here thought I parked it in a handicapped space and towed it by mistake.” Well, it seemed plausible; I really couldn’t imagine what anybody would want with my elderly vehicle.
It never occurred to me that my directional dyslexia might have been to blame for the car’s mysterious disappearance. I later recalled having gotten lost inside the three-story brick facility, but thought I’d made the proper course correction to find my way back out to the parking lot where my car awaited.
Guess what? I was WRONG. And when I’m wrong, stupid shit like this happens.
So I had the dispatcher checking to see if the car was in the impound yard, the building employees asking other employees if anyone had called for a tow, and while I was at it, I was taking pictures of the parking spot between the stalls that were clearly marked with the blue and white little-dude-in-the-wheelchair symbol. I’m not sure what that would’ve proved since there was obviously no car in the space, but it gave me something to do until the cops got there.
Fortunately, the two who arrived on the scene were VERY nice and quite willing to assist me without making me feel like some dumb hysterical female. I showed them my pictures and went through another lengthy description of the aforementioned Ford, then one officer went one direction while the other stayed with me. A third unit arrived to assist and promptly found the car, which was parked around the corner….right where I’d left it.
Have you ever felt about 17 kinds of ridiculous? Yeah, me too, and never more than I did at that moment, even as I was thanking the Lord above that my car hadn’t been stolen OR towed. I was mortified. All I could think about was the time my mother had done this same thing and how embarrassed SHE’D been—that, and the fact that I felt like I really must be losing all my marbles now. What was my next move, I wondered—the Alzheimer’s care home?
I apologized over and over; I felt terrible that I’d taken three city police officers off the streets to deal with a scared ol’ biddy and a missing car that wasn’t missing after all. But they all told me not to worry, it happened all the time; they even told me some funny stories of similar incidents committed by other folks who made me look like a Rhodes scholar by comparison. These included a tale about a woman who denied that she’d parked her car elsewhere and insisted that “somebody else must have moved it”, even though she had the keys and there were no signs of forced entry into the vehicle.
That made me feel a bit better, and since this little drama made good fodder for the day’s blog post, I figured I ought to use it. Considering the fact that between the brain damage caused by my illness and the medications I take to treat it, I can be QUITE the ditz at times, so we might as well get a few laughs out of it, yes?
3 thoughts on “Stupid People Tricks: The Bipolar Edition”
I recall a time before I was medicated, hell years before I knew I was bipolar, that I found a pipe bomb in a park behind the fire station I lived next to and quikly reported it to the firemen within said fire station. Turns out it was simply an old discarded pipe from a sprinkler that somebody decided to toss there rather than throw away. Sadly, in my case the firemen were not as kind as your officers. They walked back to the station talking and making sure they loud enough for me to hear as one said, I was like his young child and began to mock me with “Daddy, daddy look this”. However, it did inspire a short story I wrote just for fun (and have since lost but remember) that basically posed the question, “What is a hero?” and it told the story of a boy who did just what I did and had the same results as me, and then started over exactly the same at the begining and it turned out to be a pipe bomb and was disarmed before causing damage and the boy was regarded as a hero. So my question was is it our actions that make a hero, or the results of our actions? I mean the boy acted the same in both situations but in one he was a hero and the other mocked.
You make a good point. The kid who turned in the would-be West Albany HS bomber is a hero, undoubtedly…..but how would he have been regarded if the near-disaster had turned out to be merely a practical joke? Makes one wonder, doesn’t it?
Exactly, if he only thought somebody planned to bomb the school and called it in and turned out he was wrong would he have still made it on the news but had it result in mocking? The real downside to that is honestly if I thought there might be a pipe bomb near another fire station or in a park I would probably now easily convince myself it wasn’t any big deal and justify walking away just to avoid ridicule. I am not sure though. I might still risk it depending on the situation. Hopefully we never have to find out!