Comment Story, aka "Nuckin Futz"

Here is the story I promised you all.

Now if you happen to be stumbling on to this blog today or have been away for a while, please let me take a moment to set up the following story. I left for a few days and asked anybody who wanted to leave a random comment, to please do so. I would take all of them and create a story from what you/they the readers came up with when I returned.

You/they came through in a big way, leaving a menagerie of snippets for me to work with. There were thirty-four lines in all, which were about as varied as I could have hoped for.

Your comments are indicated in the story by the bold typeface.

This was as entertaining to write as it was challenging. Thank you all for playing along and I hope you enjoy the following:

“I’m Nuckin’ Futz”

It had been an unbelievably long day, but then again, most days at the institution were.

Starting from the moment I put on my “uniform”, or should I say costume, I was sure this was going to be one to remember. My wife looked at me and said, "You can't go to work looking like that!"

I replied, "It's April Fools', and I think it's perfect."

“Don’t you think those people have enough problems without you walking in wearing a dress and high heels?” she questioned. “Besides, you remember what happened in New Orleans don’t you?”

I had to quickly remind her, “That was YOUR brother down there, it wasn't me, I didn't even go to Mardi Gras with Sherry this year.”

She was right about the outfit though. As I thought back to the company Christmas party, I recalled, “The last time I tried this I ended up in traction for a week, but why should I let that stop me this time? I mean, it's summer now.” Well, it wasn’t really summer yet, but it had been so warm out the past week that it felt like it was.

So there I was, a cross dressers dream, all decked out with my skirt, fishnets and pumps on.

Making my way to the car that I’d parked on the street, I could see some of the neighbors starring at me through their windows.

“I hate Peeps!” I thought.

Then a golden opportunity presented itself. My ultra conservative neighbor Lawrence was working on his car in his driveway. The hood was up and he had his head buried in the engine compartment. This was pretty typical for him on a Saturday morning, but the getup I was wearing certainly wasn’t.

“Maybe this would finally shock the old geezer into having a heart attack . . It'll never work," I told myself.

I decided to give it a try anyway and hollered out, "I love to change my own oil!"

As I said this, he glanced over at me and when he got an eyeful of what I was wearing, he jerked his head up so fast it whacked the hood above him. He let out a yell as he ran his hand across the top of his bloodied head.

The only other thing I said to him as I made my way to the car was, "You can get some cream to take care of that!" but what I was thinking on the inside was, "There was never a time that I did not think of what you said to me that day."

With that I got into my car and drove to work. It was about a forty-five minute drive outside of the city in the middle of absolutely nowhere, and it felt like you were in Timbuktu.

“Where is Timbuktu anyway?” I thought.

I suppose that didn’t matter. I was at my job and would be for the next eight to ten hours. I wasn’t sure what it was that had inspired me to get into this line of work, and I told myself, “Unfortunately, I'm convinced that today--it's not going to be revealed to me...dang it all...”

What today would reveal was that even sane people could act crazy at least one day a year . . . and what better therapy could I offer the patients than the hope that their irrational behavior could be embraced by their shrink?

I was starting to have second thoughts as I made my way down the hall to the “C” ward.

“Is this really such a good idea?” I wondered, “Ah, what the heck, they need a good laugh.” I reassured myself.

With that I opened the door, stepped in, and shouted, "Breaker-breaker One nine, lookin’ for a break."

The place exploded in laughter like it had never done before. I was always known as the “Patch Adams” type around the building and everybody just roared as they took in the sight before their eyes.

Everybody except Jimmy that is. He took one look at me, and then he turned the most interesting shade of purple and flicked his feather boa provocatively. I could tell immediately, he was going to need some more counseling after this encounter.

After everyone (except Jimmy) had a good chuckle, I announced, “April Fool’s” and went to my office to change into my usual attire, which consisted of slacks, a polo shirt and loafers. This may not have been as much fun, but I was likely to have more focused therapy sessions dressed this way.

Today I would make my way around to talk with each of the patients one on one.

My first visit was to Mikey. He was a thirty-two year old man who spent his waking hours playing a made-up game of marbles. The problem was, the rules changed every day and until I learned the day’s rules, Mikey wouldn’t talk about anything else. The only thing that was consistent about his games was that he had five marbles, four blue and one red. So I picked up the marbles... and realized “I'm missing the red one.”

The young man in front of me had a cup in each hand, and figuring this was part of the game, I asked, “Do I need a cup today?”

He replied, “You have to have a cup to play!”

“I don’t know where my cup is?” I said.

He became more agitated and shouted, “What do you mean you can't find your cup? You've got to have your cup to play!”

This went on for a couple of minutes until I guessed that one of the cups he was holding was “my” cup containing the red marble.

That's when I heard that sound... and I noticed the blanket was twitching. Mary was sitting in the chair behind us and she had her favorite green blanket on her lap. Underneath it was a stuffed, dancing bear her mother had brought her recently. Usually, the dancing bear made her laugh out loud. But today she cried, and wouldn't speak a word.

Just then Sol came rushing by us shouting out all sorts of astronomical facts, among which was his favorite, “WOW, did you know mysterious craters were found on Mercury?”

Next it was time to visit Zap. His was a sad tale, which involved the loss of his daughter at a very early age. He had been making great progress too until that fateful day on the back lawn. While the group was having their Sunday picnic he set down his daughter’s favorite doll on the grass but forgot about it. He wished he still had the whole baby, but since the unfortunate incident with the lawnmower... he has never been the same since.

Hank the “Hand Puppet Man” was nervously waiting our turn together. His means of coping was to use a variety of puppets to help communicate. Today he had his penguin out.

“Afternoon Pinfold,” I said.

The penguin nodded in agreement.

“Are you having a good day?” I asked.

With that, Hank and Pinfold, took off for the bathroom a few feet away, waiting in the doorway. Slowly I turned: step by step, inch by inch, until I came face to face with the maddest penguin on the planet. As I got closer, Hank slammed the puppet on the closed toilet seat. I moved the penguin, peeked under the lid, slammed it shut and sighed.

“I can’t believe I ate that whole apple pie!!!” Hank said.

This was discouraging for me. We had come so far and now this had happened. I tried not to let it get to me too much as I led Hank back to the table so we could start all over again.

No sooner had we sat down than Yoko came over to us. The “geisha” reached up and cupped his chin. "Are you happy here, Jiro?" she asked.

Yoko, his name is Hank, not Jiro, and we’re still in the middle of a session here.

“Gominasai.” She replied.

“I burn for you!” Hank said to Yoko.

He loved her but could never tell her about his terrible jock itch. It had plagued him all his life and had kept him from ever being intimate with a women before.

After my talk with Hank, I walked over to Tommy. He had been a professor in Berkley, California before burning out all the circuitry in his brain during the late sixties. He began to tell me of an interaction he’d had with his imaginary friend.

“It was like this man,” he began, “As he pondered the aforementioned question, a wood nymph appeared to him and said... I am on my way to bong fong, that’s what mommy said to daddy when he asked her where she was going. Grandma I don’t know where it is. All I know is it must be far cause mom packed her bags. Call you grandma; when we get back.”

These flashback-induced conversations were common for him, but know matter what he would come up with, he always finished his story with, "There was nothing left but pancakes and the straight razor."

Next I stopped by to talk with Joyce, and in her typical fashion she greeted me with, “Here we go again. Time to pick up the dog poop.”

I asked her if Zap was still bothering her at meal times, but her only response was, “He wished he had more but the dog hadn't pooped more of the baby back out yet.”

Her fixation with feces was a continuing source of wonder for me.

Out of the corner of my eye I caught a glimpse of Jimmy, still wearing his feather boa, and playing with something.

“Excuse me Joyce.” I said.

“Jimmy, What are you doing with that toothbrush??” I asked.

“I got an itch on my inside.” He responded.

Thank goodness no one else was watching, because I'll never understand how he got that up there so far.

“Jimmy, You can’t do that anymore!” I demanded.

"Yes, Mommy Dearest," he quipped.

Finishing up my rounds, I was finally ready to go home. As I went to check out with the nursing staff, one of the gals said, “You can't leave now; the storm's coming this way, and its packing 60 MPH winds!”

I thanked her for her concern and proceeded out the door anyway.

I thought to myself, “I’ve got it pretty good by comparison to those poor folks in there. I only have one real question in life and eventually, someone will provide me with the infinite wisdom on how to drink coffee from a white cup without leaving goobers.

The End