(11/4/97)

I'm gonna start out by stating that I'm writing this as a bitch session. The topic of this discussion (MethBoy) has problems, IMO. Writing it out is a cathartic thing - something which our hero could probably stand to learn about.

MethBoy is this guy who sits next to me at work. We both work in cubes, with all the lack of privacy that working in a cube gets you. One of our specified goals is to get along with our co-workers, which I assume means I can't wait for 'em in the parking lot with my favorite baseball bat. Too bad, I know I'd feel better. So, whether I like them or not (and vice-versa), I try to be at least friendly, if I can't be friends, with the people that sit near me (also vice-versa).

A lot has led up to this. I'll begin with some background, to give you a feel for who we're dealing with here.

A few months ago, he comes into work telling me about this great chick he met over the weekend. True lust, it was. A couple of days later, he tells me about this girl (I assume the same one) for whom he rented a car three days before, and the rental company had called to tell him that it hadn't been returned on time. Yes, she'd stolen it, and it took a week or so to recover the vehicle. It turns out that the girl was a titty dancer. You heard that right - he rented a car, on his credit card, for a titty dancer. And then lost track of her. A trusting soul, a stupid putz, both? You be the judge.

Time passes, and MethBoy continues his daily grind. He takes care of the rental car problem (I think - I seem to remember him saying that he may end up buying it). One Monday, our hero collapses at work, clutching his heart. (If someone else hadn't noticed, he coulda just died there - I'm kinda oblivious, not to mention hard of hearing from too many concerts and car races.) The paramedics came, and brought with them the coolest stretcher I ever did see - all thick yellow bicycle frame-type tubes, hydraulics, and levers and things. The paramedics start asking him the usual questions like, "Do you have a medical condition? Have you been taking any medication? Have you taken any other drugs?" You know, the stuff they need to know before they pump something into you that might make things worse. Well, MethBoy, pure as all Hell, groans "no". Well, paramedics are not idiots (not to say that there isn't such a thing as an idiot paramedic - idiots pop up in all professions IMHO), they had to wonder why someone in their mid-twenties would have a heart problem, so they asked him if he was sure. "I don't remember," MethBoy replied. Knowing they were onto something, the paramedics pressed on: "Have you taken anything at all lately?". Our hero shatters everyone's image of him (not!) by just about yelling "Meth!". "When?" the persistent medic inquired. "Last night!" And away he went to the hospital, on that mega-cool stretcher, with him thanking God. I believe this last bit may have been the first sign of his current situation.

In many places, you'd be fired. Not in our workplace, tho, we're a little more progressive than that. We let him come back, no repercussions, all he needed was a doctor's note releasing him from the hospital. After a week or so away, he came back - no Rehab, no suspension, no slap on the wrist. The only difference is I call him MethBoy to my non-work friends.

Having come near death, MethBoy had taken a slight change in philosophy. I'm not surprised, I expected as much. He came back much more interested in the spiritual world, and talking quite a bit more about God. I've been friends with many of the Born Again - I respect them, they seem to respect me. Our hero and I spent quite of bit of time discussing various spiritual stuff - he'd proclaim to have it figured out, I'd lead him around until he was questioning himself. I spent nine years in Catholic school, and a lot of the time since then studying other philosophies cleaning up that mess, until I was happy with what I believe. I used to argue with the hard-core Christians I'd meet as a way of having fun, seeing if I couldn't put some doubt in their minds. MethBoy clearly has spent zero time researching his subject, so he was even easier than most. This was OK with me, it was very lightweight stuff, although I was getting annoyed with pulling myself out whatever it was I was researching at that given moment to have a sub-sophmoric theological discussion. If he'd gotten better as he went along, you know, maybe read up on some of the stuff he was thinking, I never would have had a problem - an argument that gets better in quality, and leaves open the possiblility of my thinking something that I'd never thought of before is extremely satisfying. Wasn't getting that, that's for sure.

I don't think he ever really believed me when I told him that other people had thought of what he was thinking. Not only thought of it, but gone farther with it, and then had the decency to write it down. I even tried to point him to some resources - the Bible, the Koran, web sites with interpretations of those texts, their associated religions, even Deepak Chopra's Seven Spritual Laws of Success. Which, BTW, isn't a bad book - good summary of tried and true self-knowledge crap, neatly packaged in a lite non-guilt-based spiritual wrapper.

Last week, he started getting a little weird. He told me he was being completely honest with himself. Period. In my experience, if I meet someone who truly seems to have themselves together, when they make a statement like that, it's "I try to be honest with myself". Not "I'm honest with myself" - with a totally straight face. Maybe I'm just cynical, but the former statement sounds much more honest. The latter makes me think that the speaker is being less than honest with me. I argued about that one with him for awhile, 'cause frankly I thought he was full of shit. Still do. He maintained to the end that he was, as a statement-of-fact, "Totally and completely honest" with himself.

Let's talk about drugs, 'cause I think MethBoy is on 'em. Not meth, he's not hyper. Happy-pills. Prozac, Xanac, or whatever they're prescribing for extreme insecurity these days, is what I think he's got. It's not that he's told me anything, but some days he is definitely more lucid than others. It could be a physical problem, true, but I think it's drugs. Some days he is too relaxed, and honestly, he is stupid on those days. Maybe he's just high on pot. If so, he needs to lay off the bong before work. Some days, he sits there and talks to himself. I think it's to himself - there's no one else there, and it doesn't sound like he's talking to his computer, which is different and OK.

Yesterday, I was telling him that I needed to get a new car, 'cause the frame on my truck was cracked, and it was leaning to one side as it sagged. There was some other significant work that needed to be done, so I want to get rid of the truck and get something else. He asked me again why I needed a new car. I told him it was 'cause my truck needed too much work. Our hero informs me, "It doesn't need work, it needs hope," with that totally please-believe-that-I'm-serious look on his face that I associate with what I now refer to as his "complete and utter bullshit". I should also note that his voice changes to a tone that I think is supposed to convey total peace, tranquility. self-knowledge, and self-confidence. It would work better if his voice didn't shake ever so slightly, and I had actually heard someone who was totally peaceful, tranquil, etc., use that tone. Kinda cartoon-Jesus (not SouthPark's). He also tried the direct unwavering eye-contact tactic, which is old hat as far as I'm concerned. Learned that at Daddy's knee. He's right, tho, my truck does need to hope that I don't personally find out if a .357 Magnum will go through a 350 Chevy engine block.

So - yesterday, the weirdness escalates. He was telling me and the guy in the cube across from me about his weekend. It had had a low moment, when he'd locked his keys into his car outside of his apartment. He says that he couldn't get a locksmith to come out (more likely he wouldn't pay the at least $75 for one to come out), so he started kicking his door in. He was almost in when his roommate showed up and let him in. I'm not sure our hero has, you know, friends. That's who I would've called, if nothing else. Fuck freezing.

He also increased the usage of what I think is a sigh. Some are happy, some are sad, some are just sighs. IMO, they are all "please talk to me". That sounds pathetic, and it may be totally wrong, but they go on all day. He had done it before any of the events described here transpired, but only infrequently. Now I can count on hearing an alto tone coming over the cube wall at least every minute, if not more often. I gotta work. And MethBoy ain't half as interesting as he thinks. Only recently was the story interesting enough to be worth writing, and only then 'cause I'm sick and tired of our hero's crap (ahh - catharsis...)

MethBoy and I both work a late shift, his is a couple hours later than mine. Near the end of my shift, there's only the two of us, and it's when we typically would have a philosophical discussion. By yesterday, he'd progressed from "totally honest" to "God speaks through me". No shit. With that lousy attempt at a beatific look on his face. He'd adopted a new stance, too, holding his arms out like you see in pictures of Jesus, when He's doing something nice for folks.

Now, I know some pretty strange people. Stranger than MethBoy, in fact, despite these events. So I argued about it (it's what I do). Now, when I say argue, I don't mean raised voices, I mean discussion, debate style arguing. We'd done this before, no big deal. Until he told me I was "wrong". Repeatedly, to assertions that I think were pretty valid, like "Some people don't believe that". That statement and others were wrong, in the eyes of MethBoy, and he told me so. He'd progressed from the spiritual-leader tone to a more stern version of the same thing, I think it was supposed to be vaguely menacing. D for quality, A for effort. I then told him that I felt that everybody had their own belief, and if it worked for them then I was happy for them. He called me a liar. Quote. "You're lying". End Quote. I pursued that, yessir. Ultimately, what I was lying about, our hero claimed, is that I believed that people had their own faith. There were quite a few other equally out-there claims, but that one is one that stands out: I'm lying about my opinion. (I don't think so, I think I've believed that for awhile. Maybe I'm wrong, maybe that isn't my opinion at all, but I ain't lying about it)

MethBoy had found one of my buttons: being totally stupid when I have other things to do. I growled at him. I told him forcefully that I would not permit anyone to try to force their belief down my throat, it's impossible to force faith anyways, he had better not persist, 'cause I wasn't going to put up with it, I didn't have to. I said more, I don't think I even cussed (mighta, tho), I wasn't out of control, but I was mad.

Well, our hero sullenly retreats. The sighs assume the sad tone. I hear sniffels. When he speaks again, his voice sounds as if his throat is tight. "I hope that you won't let this affect our friendship". I tell him, no, as long as he doesn't. Vague, huh? If he knew me, he'd have known that I'd blow it off pretty quickly. I think he put far more into than I did. I've said it before: I like arguing. Before I left, I gave him the standard "have a good one". By the time I'd gotten home, the incident had already become humorous. Still is.

So, now it's today, well after work. MethBoy didn't get into any discussions with me this evening, but we were all very busy today. However, he did take an opportunity to try and persuade a different co-worker who dropped by that God was speaking through him. They immediately fell into it, the co-worker taking the skeptical view (really!), and MethBoy was utilizing his unimproved wannabe-deity tone. Quite irritating. The workunit that sits across from me happens to have some quasi-managerial power (I think he'd be listened to, even if it wasn't official). He chose that moment to exercise it, and told our hero that he would have to stop. MethBoy, convinced that he was on a mission from God, laughed. SemiAuthority repeated himself firmly, displaying the tone and attitude for which our hero seems to be striving. MethBoy dropped it. I sent email to my savior across the way, thanking him.

One last note for this evening. Part of our job is answering technical questions on the phone. I think he almost slipped. He started a reply and caught himself, but not after he uttered "Jesus...", in that tone, and broke off. Then he resumed normal functioning. I managed to avoid interaction for a majority of the evening. He did seem mostly OK today, much less braindead than yesterday.

So, I can't help wondering what exactly is happening with MethBoy. A breakdown seems imminent. I don't think there is any single reason, I think there are a few things happening here. This is the first time he's been away from home, and he's been away for just a couple of years. I don't think he's established anybody as a close friend, as opposed to acquaintance-type friends. I remember moving away - I remember the homesickness (I've got friends, tho). He's had a near-death experience, and that has made him feel mortal, with related insecurities. I think he's also doing mood enhancing drugs, perhaps prescribed. Considering the first two emotions, this last piece may be a bad idea for our hero. I think he also found God, initiated by his collapse. His current attitude, this messianic stage, seems to be a confused attempt at sharing the joy that the Born Again feel, which is further magnified and distorted chemically. All of which is compounded by his complete lack of theological training. (Hmm. Maybe he's back on meth, and the reason he's dopey is no sleep, which is also giving him delusions of grandeur. I just dunno.).

His mindset seems perfect for rehab. He evidently wants to change (he is, isn't he?), which is the hardest part. Geez - if he'd just go to church or something, so that he could get a little education and leadership. Might make a friend or two. And I'm not one who normally advocates going to church (only if it works for you ;-).

(11/5/97)

Yeah, a little more of the same. I'm gonna use this page to keep tabs on our hero. I think it might be neat to have a record, so that whatever progression takes place will be easy to review. Is that a cold, dry reason, or what?

MethBoy was more lucid today, or at least less spacey. Our hero didn't seem to have it all together where the job is concerned, not as smooth as used to be the case. Didn't suck, and I can't really say that he's severely slipped where his job is concerned. A little klugey, but still effective. In fact, our hero conceived and submitted a great idea last night after I left, which I hope is implemented.

Fewer sigh-things, but they were still there, and they were a little louder. I thought our hero might have caught on that I'm pretty damn deaf. Not the case. Maybe he was just too busy for self-pity (or fishing for conversation, or sharing his mood moment-to-moment, or whatever the hell his problem is) to give time to attracting attention to himself. Still did it, though.

I know that MethBoy didn't catch on that I'm deaf, because in that perilous zone of time later in my evening, when nobody else is there (usually - today there were), our hero took his accustomed perch on a file cabinet on the far side of the aisle. He then began mumbling at me. "No mumbling!" I told him. I explained I can't hear very well, and all I could hear was "Mumdbm dm sbmum m." So he said (I'm still not making this shit up), "You can't hear God."

"No, I can't hear you."

MethBoy's pose began to form, the elbows dropping to his sides, the palms of his hands facing up, and I told him, over firmly pointed finger, "Don't you even start with that." Our hero hesitated, then retreated back to his cube. At least he didn't call me a liar.

A little later MethBoy asked me, "So, if you had the choice, which would you prefer: All eternity in Paradise in Heaven, or Paradise here on Earth?" Erk, says I. I know my initial answer was less than satisfactory. The conversation went downhill from there. "It can be done," our hero tentatively sermonizes. There was a little more, but salvation came to me when my phone rang.

Most of the day, though, our hero remembered to be cheery and normal. I wonder how far he got in his personal conversations with others before driving the listener off? He may be OK if he lays off whatever he wasn't on today.

In the interests of an open mind, I've considered the possibility that God is speaking through him. I can't help but wonder how an entity that disjointed could possibly be responsible for everything. I suppose he would have other things to be doing, but it's just not convincing. I think God would be convincing.

(the next day, I think - I'm writing this a month later, from memory)

Well, our hero managed get himself on disability (or something) again. Here we are, myself and other organizationally related workunits, in a little meeeting, doing our stuff, and yes, MethBoy is there (wouldn't be much point if he weren't, huh?). We're proceeding with the usual drivel, and as time passes on, our hero seems to be passing on, too. His face is pale and drawn, and he's focused on something about ten inches from his face. He's not breathing well, resorting to gasps every few seconds. Our hero was not well. The management unit presiding over the mandatory togetherness asked our hero if he was OK. MethBoy's response was along the lines of "I'm OK, I think I just died a little bit". He was sent to his cube (yeah, that'll help). After the face to face ideafest was completed, I found the management unit having a conversation with our hero. I felt that was a good time to take lunch. I have no idea what transpired, other than MethBoy was sent home. They haven't fired him (can you believe it?), all his stuff is still there. I wonder how much he makes sitting on his butt all day, watching TV and eating wrong (or whatever the hell he does)?

(Mid-December)

Well, the neighboring cube was still lacking personnel, but not stuff. I got a voice message from MethBoy, though. It seems he bought a new house, and needed a roommate. Was I interested? (Yeah - when you were sane) If nothing else, I should come by and at least check out his new place. He left his number and the rest of it.

I wrote it all down, 'cause he sounded normal in the message. I wanted better information than that (is he on better drugs now?), so I figured I'd blow it off until after the holidays.

(12/29/97)

OK - here's why I suddenly updated this. I've got an excerpt from today's news. Yeah - I changed the names (duh). If you know who MethBoy is, then you already know the story. If you don't, then it ain't none of your business, anyways.

METHBOY'S TOWN - Two days after Christmas, the wrapped presents were still sitting on the front porch at MethBoy's new house. But the newcomer who lived there was obviously home, neighbors said.

"I thought that was a little strange," said MethBoy's neighbor, who lives on the block.

The neighbor and other neighbors said that was the only hint Saturday that something was going wrong at the single-story house where MethBoy, 27, had lived for about a month.

Saturday night, however, unidentified neighbors saw our hero running naked around his house, carrying a gun and apparently shouting at no one.

They called police to check on MethBoy. The call was recorded as an attempted suicide.

When police arrived about 7:30 p.m., MethBoy walked onto his front porch and pointed a semiautomatic handgun at the two officers, police said. After repeatedly asking MethBoy to drop the gun, police Capt. Typical Mouthpiece said, one of the officers fired two shots at the man, killing him.

Police did not release the names of the officers involved. The officer who fired the shots has been placed on routine leave until the investigation is finished.

City officials said Sunday that they didn't know why MethBoy pointed the gun at the officers. Investigators spoke Sunday with his mother in MethBoy's hometown, but didn't solve the puzzle.

"The investigators are going to have to speak to the mother again before they can know why this happened," said Hired Forherlooks, a city spokeswoman.

Reporters could not reach MethBoy's mother. Neighbors said they didn't know MethBoy well.

Some chick said her husband spoke with him only once.

"My husband saw him raking leaves and said hi to him, but he never said anything again," she said.

Another neighbor, Nosy Hoe, said she had never met MethBoy, but her 9-year-old son talked to him the day he moved in.

"I was the first person to welcome him," Little Peckerhead said. "He seemed normal."

Some mouth said he had never had much reason to pay attention to the new resident down the street.

"Everything was quiet over there," the mouth said Sunday. "At least until the shooting started."

I don't think this story can get much longer. If I hear anything more, I'll let you know. Yeah, MethBoy needed a friend. No, I wasn't one. I don't know you - maybe you would have been that friend, where I wasn't. I didn't know him very well, but it's sorrowful to have someone you know keel over, much less go out of their mind. This has been a strange, sad experience, and a really crummy way to end Christmas. It's been funny at times (sometimes still is). You'd never think this would happen where I work, a high-tech, professional environment. Well, I wouldn't have - maybe it happens all the time, and it's just never talked about.