I kind of love talking to crazy people. Well, more specifically, I love listening to crazy people talk. Those people with a couple screws loose who are able to catch your eyes, and just start talking and don’t stop. If I’m lucky, I only need to respond briefly 2 or 3 times to acknowledge I’m listening and also egg them on a little so they keep talking.
I found one of these people in a dental office this week. Andy had to get something weird and scary done to his gums, so I thought I would be a supportive wife and go with him. Luckily, there was a cray older lady there just waiting to talk my ear off.
She talked at me non-stop for probably 15 minutes while she waited to be called for her appointment. I was entertained, but she wasn’t really the best crazy I ever talked to. She yammered on and on about the cost of college and how her lawyer has spent $600,000 to put his kids through college and he wears tattered loafers. Also, she lives in Portsmouth and has never heard of Tiverton (for my non-Rhode Island readers, Tiverton is literally NEXT TO Portsmouth.) — she attributes this to the fact that she does not have a car and basically only leaves her house to walk down the street to the dentist.
I asked her, “Oh, are you not from here?”
“I’m a military brat. I’ve lived everywhere.”
Okay, you’re at least 75, which means there’s a chance you haven’t lived with your military parents for almost 60 years. Where have you been for 60 years? YOU ARE NOT BEING CLEAR.
Please keep in mind that the whole time this woman was talking to me, my husband was sitting with his head down, pretending to be engrossed in a Good Housekeeping magazine. Also, my stepson had conveniently put his headphones in.
Finally, the dental assistant came out to the waiting room and said: Jeffrey?
The crazy lady stood up.
My mind started going a mile a minute trying to understand what I had just heard. Andy and I said nothing about this until his appointment was over and we were getting in the car.
“Did that lady have a man’s name?” Andy asked as he was putting on his seatbelt.
“JEFFREY?!” I exclaimed.
“YES, I THOUGHT THAT’S WHAT I HEARD!”
“WHY IS HER NAME JEFFREY? Do you think it could have been her last name? Maybe her first name is so weird that the dental assistant didn’t know how to pronounce it and called her last name instead?”
“No, she’s definitely named Jeffrey,” Andy assured me.
I actually Googled “A woman named Jeffrey” because I needed to know if this was a legit thing. None of the baby name websites were helpful, but I did come across a random financial blog from 2007 that addressed the issue.
This blog post has single-handedly given me hope that that woman’s name is actually Jeffrey. I have high hopes that I will run into her again. You better believe that if that happens, I will be the one talking her ear off.