A Card from Jackass John

I don’t blog much about the people that I meet at my secret job because I’m concerned that doing so would be a violation of their trust and privacy.  


This is too good not to share, however.  


Yesterday I was hired by a nice man who was also batshit insane.  Not weird.  Not eccentric.  Not troubled.  I mean full-on loony tunes. Batty.  Nuttier than the proverbial fruitcake, gentle reader.  When I met him, he started spazzing out and dancing around in joy (I was momentarily taken aback, thinking perhaps that he was having some sort of attack, like a seizure).  


    “You’re so beautiful!  Even more beautiful than I expected!  You’re the one!  AND YOUR SHOES!


     As you will see, gentle reader, the fellow is very enthusiastic about women’s footwear.  He was there to enthuse about shoes.  He babbled about shoes like a maniac.  In between stories of shoes, he told me about his life.  


    Improbably, he is employed.  I don’t know what he works at, but I can tell you something that he does while he’s there, because he told me: when he’s working late at night, he goes around to the cubicles in his office building and looks for women’s shoes.  Some of these office workers, he told me, his face contorted in rapture, wear sneakers to work and keep their high heeled work shoes under their desks.  He ferrets them out.


    I am not sure what he does with them when he gets ahold of them–he omitted that detail–but he did tell me that he’d been “caught” by the cleaning personnel twice.  I can only imagine what the story would be from the janitor’s perspective.  


    “But they never ratted me out!  I’ve never gotten in trouble!” he said.  


     I tried to be sympathetic, but I was really at a loss of what to say to that.  I was kind of stunned, actually. I’ve heard much worse (hell, I’ve done much worse), but I was trying to picture this lunatic individual ricocheting through the cubicles of some Midtown office hellhole, scrounging underneath the desks for pumps and maryjanes and then trying to eat them, or whatever the fuck he did.  And then encountering some hapless, traumatized janitor.  


   “Um, well, that’s good.  It’s not like you were hurting anyone,” I tried.  If he was not crazy, he would have noticed how unconvincing I sounded.


     He was very friendly.  Out of his mind–but I have to say, I didn’t dislike him.  


       He gave me a card.  This card is off the hook!  It’s one of those musical cards that plays a tune when you open it up–in this case, “Girls Just Want to Have Fun.”  The jumping girl on the inside vibrates, too.  This card was a big hit in the lounge, believe me.  He addressed it to me, and made interesting cartoon art on the envelope.  I’ve been given wacky things before (coupons for Rite Aid and the battery for a hearing aid spring to mind), but I think that this card is a contender for #1.  


      It’s a keeper.  Most definitely. 


     Check it out:  

A koala bear…?  And note the misspelling of “Dweeb.”  The cartoon does look sweet, though.

Did I mention he likes pumps?  And boots?  I love the hearts instead of  o’s in “boots!” 

Happiness overload, indeed!  Well, at least I definitely got one Valentine this year….



One thought on “A Card from Jackass John”

  1. Dear Miss Margo,

    Great post! I always wondered how I came across when I visited the studios. I would be so worked up emotionally by the time I got there, I was bouncing off the walls. I don’t think I have ever been as emotional in front of someone as I was doing scenes. It made me feel very vulnerable to judgement or criticism.

    Of course, I never made a card, I guess I was just not thoughtful enough. I think that part of the power dynamic is that I was so worked up and the dominatrix was calm. It created a real power imbalance. Of course, once she started hitting me, I was gone. But even before that, I was going … going …

    John

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