So, quite recently, I had a(nother) batshit crazy client. It’s an occupational
hazard: occasionally, I end up spending half an hour or so with someone who is
completely bananas. I truly earn my money in these moments.
This crazy bitch didn't smell like urine, nor did she suffer a lateral lisp, but she strongly resembled the Shishter From Shashkatoon in many ways. There was just something dodgy about her mannerisms and very slow, dramatic speech patterns that made my Spidey-sense tingle.
She began by telling me, “Well, I just lost a grandma that
meant the world to me. I sacrificed a job to go to Ontario and look after her
before she died, and it was really tough. It was her wish that I look after her,
cuz my aunt didn’t want to. And even though it’s been two and a half months
since grandma bought the farm [I’m paraphrasing, here—ed], she visits me three
times a week. I even got a Christmas
card from her. ” (cue ALARM
BELLS)
Me: “Okay, so what is it you want to know?” (Cuz, bitch, that's all exposition. Get to the point).
“I wanna know if the Will is gonna go through alright, or if we can expect
trouble.”
I shook my head, because this was definitely not where I had anticipated
the reading going. “Ooookaaaaay. Do you expect to probate the Will?”
There was a long pause as she looked at me blankly.
“Yeah. Maybe. I dunno,”
she said, finally.
Me: “Because estates take a long time to settle under the best of
circumstances. When there are complications like codicils or when
you probate, it takes significantly longer.”
“Can I ask you a question? What does ‘probate’ mean?”
This chick was about my age [I'm not exactly a spring chicken anymore--ed], and somehow, she had managed to live her whole
life without ever encountering the concept of challenging a Will. Blows me away.
I almost asked her, “What area of the city is the rock you live under in?”, but
then I remembered that I was being recorded, so I just explained to her what
“probate” means.
“Oh, cuz I’m pretty sure my aunt is gonna take everything!” she said.
“Are you the executrix of the Will?”
“No.”
“Is your mom?”
“No.”
“So your aunt is?”
“Yeah, but before she died, grandma left me with instructions about her
wishes and I need to see that they are carried out.”
(In my head: Well, that's tough titty for grandma.)
Outside Voice: “Well, the first thing you need is legal counsel.”
Not My Problem List
1. Why are you wasting money on a tarot reader? Research a lawyer for your mother. They are expensive.
2. Without any legal documents, you are screwed, blued and tattoo'ed legally.
So having discussed the Will issue, Loony Tunes wanted to address the issue of
her marriage.
“Cuz, while I was taking care of grandma in Ontario, she said to me, ‘I
sure hope he doesn’t have a girlfriend while you’re gone’.”
(In my head: Well, now I see why auntie didn’t want to
take care of her: grandma was a fucking bitch.
Outside Voice: “So do you think he’s fooling around on you?”(The cards said
“yes”, by the way.)
“Yeah!” said Loony.
“And why do you think that?”
“Because I saw texts to him from another woman on his phone.”
(In my head: I’m not
going to ask why you were snooping around on his phone.)
Outside Voice: “Did you confront him about this?”
“Yeah, we had a huge fight and he denied everything.” (Imagine that!!!)
And then, having discussed the likelihood of his at least flirting with
other women in an inappropriate fashion, she said, “I’m pretty psychic, eh? And
I just knew I was gonna get that Christmas card from grandma after she died. I
knew it, but I hate when I see stuff that’s gonna happen and then it comes
true.”
“How exactly did you manage to get a Christmas card from grandma?” I asked,
and stopped myself from adding, “Because I can’t imagine the postage on
something from Beyond the Grave.”
“Oh, one of grandma’s friends sent it to me, cuz I’m pretty sure grandma
told her to,” said Loony.
At this point, I almost said, “Get out of my office, you delusional
dingdong.” But there were only a few more minutes left in the session, and I
thought I would amuse myself by mining her for more information. It's a sickness I have. I know I shouldn't ask. I know there are dark corners into which I shouldn't peer, and I know that doing so invariably results in the death of what little hope I have for humanity left. I know this, and yet, I do it.
So I said, “And
grandma visits you three times a week?”
“Yeah,” said Loony. “The other night I asked her to let me know if she was
around and she rapped on the table.”
OOOH! Rapping on the table!!!! Bust out the Ouija board, kids! We got ourselves a gen-u-wine seance! What is this, 1851??? Rapping on the table.
Sheesh. Thanks very much for dropping by and spreading your particular brand of
crazy. That’ll be $60.00 please. Don’t let the door hit your ass on the way out.
Oh, and get a shrink.
The
other noteworthy client I had was a young woman who wanted to know if her aborted baby
was okay on the Other Side. This question is so wrong on so many levels, but the short answer is...
PEOPLE: I DO NOT SPEAK TO THE
DEAD. IF SOMEONE TELLS YOU THAT THEY CAN TALK TO DEAD FOETUSES, IT IS HEALTHY TO
ASSUME AN ATTITUDE OF SCEPTICISM. RESOLVE YOUR ISSUES WITH A
COUNSELLOR.
This is the kind of crap I have to wade through from time to time.
