workingfortheman.com

There's one in every family, there's one in every neighborhood and unfortunately, there's one in every office - the head case. When they first came to work for your company, they seemed very normal and stable. Then one day, you clued in that it was all just a facade.

It was the day Mrs. Looney Tune welled up and spun you a woeful tale of her inability to conceive - two weeks after her doctor told her she's four weeks pregnant.

It was the day Ms. Freak told you she moved to your fair city - one that's supported primarily by huge chemical plants - because it's pretty.

It was the day Mr. Nutbar, known for beating his wife, asked the smokers in your building not to light up around him because of the health hazard.

It was the day Mr. One-Tortilla-Short-of-a-Fajita suggested you wear a pager when you accompany your sister to the hospital for her mastectomy - you know, in case anything really urgent pops up.

It was the day - oh heck, it's everyday the resident spinster bores you with tales about her cat, Pookey, told with the sing-song voice of a 3-year-old.

Overall, the people I work with are nice. Over the years, however, I have had more than my share of wackos. They're the ones who propel me to buy lottery tickets and fantasize about appendicitis attacks - anything to get me away from them. I know one day I'll be rid of all the crazies: March 31, 2031. That's the day I can retire.

Ray O. Hope, of course, is a pen name. The last thing I need is a crazy person mad (no pun intended) at me.

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