Crazy Skinny Lost Girl

Caveat: This post is going to make me sound evil and insensitive to the plight of a loony, drugged-out nutcase. I'm really not; I am normally rather compassionate, and this person obviously could use some compassion along with real help of the psychological variety. However, I have been under quite a bit of stress lately, and I just want to be left alone. I'm seriously thinking about writing to Gothamist and calling Morningside Public Safety about her -- especially when she goes into muttering and stomping mode. Read on and forgive my momentary lapse of goodwill.

I first ran into Crazy Skinny Lost Girl, or CSLG, a couple of months ago on a Sunday afternoon not too far from D'Agostino's at 110 and Broadway. However, I think she's been haunting the Columbia University area with increasing frequency for the past five or six months.

Actually, Daughter was the first to encounter CSLG. She ran into her near Morningside Park when out walking the "family" dogs several months ago. CSLG has since abbreviated her schtick, but Daughter received the full measure of the insanity. It went something like this:

CSLG: (in a very high voice) Excuse me, can I ask you for directions.

Daughter: Um . . . OK . . .

CSLG: I fell and hit my head (or something like that) because I have an eating disorder, and St. Luke's won't treat me because I have an eating disorder, so I need to get to somesuch eating disorder treatment center (St. Mark's?) on Eighth Street. Can I walk there from here? Is it close?

Daughter: No, not really. Couldn't they take you in an ambulance?

CSLG: Provides some weird excuse I can't remember. My sister could take me. Do you have a cell phone? We could call her.

Daughter: Well, I'm just out walking the dogs. I don't really have anything with me.

CSLG: Can we go back to your apartment to get it?

Daughter: Um . . . You could take a cab.

CSLG: I don't have any money, and I can't talk to men. I can't touch money. It's unclean. Maybe you could hail the cab, tell him where to go, and give him the money for me.

Daughter: Uh . . . I don't have any cash on me. I'm just out walking the dogs, and I really have to get back to the apartment. Worst case scenario, you could just stiff the cabby.

CSLG: But he would be a man. I can't talk to men. They scare me. They're unclean. But you could talk to him for me. We could go back to your apartment, and you could get some money.

Daughter: I wish I could help you . . . Look, there are a couple of policemen over there. I'm sure if you explained your predicament to them, they would drive you down to the clinic.

CSLG: Starts muttering and stomps off.

Until a couple of months ago, I just thought this was a bizarre, slightly amusing story. CSLG definitely scores points for creativity. At least this was how I felt before CSLG started stalking me. OK, she's not really stalking me, but she has decided to lurk almost daily, without fail, on the stretch of 110th between Broadway and Columbus and has, as of this morning, asked me for directions to this eating disorder facility at least FIVE times. The first time, I was polite and listened to her for a couple of minutes simply because I remembered Daughter's story and kind of wanted to hear this mess for myself -- except that I was running late for a voice lesson. She told me that I seemed very approachable. I think this is sometimes not such a good trait to have.

The second and third times, I just told her I couldn't stop because, once again, I was running late for something (sadly, this was true -- I am late for life). She started stomping around and muttering to herself.

However, the fourth time, I was a little bit peeved. I had been having a bad day and really did not want to be bothered by CSLG or any other crazy person roaming the streets of New York. I said, "Look, both I and a friend of mine have given you directions before. You've been looking for this place for six months. You could have walked there from here a gazillion times already. If you have not found it yet, you are not going to find it." I did not stick around to hear what she would have muttered back.

Naively, I thought that after my mild invective, CSLG would stop bothering me. I know other people in our building have had similar run-ins with her, and my Musical Genius has called her on this scam or whatever it is several times (apparently, she now needs directions so badly that some men are no longer "unclean"). However, as I was speedwalking to the subway -- late for work again -- who should approach me with her crazy, whiny, "Excuse me, can I ask you for directions?" This time I just sighed and said no. Maybe she'll have better luck this evening.