I was visiting with a friend of mine who was working the door at one of my favorite local watering holes (Hazlewood) when he told me about this crazy, drunk guy who was racing around in his electric wheelchair. He was drunk, belligerent, and wanting more drink. My friend had turned him away thrice and had seen him make attempts at some of the other bars within view.
Nearly immediately after he related this story to me, who should come weaving down the sidewalk but our surly, profane comrade. He rammed his wheelchair into the metal railing which surrounds the seating area outside the pub, made an inappropriate remark to the woman sitting on the bench, and demanded a cigarette from any of the three seated with her. They ignored all of this (probably a good policy given the circumstances) and he weaved on.
Not far enough, however, because he again came to my friend (for the fourth time that evening). Legless and abusive, he came to the door and Eric politely refused to allow him entrance. Again he was sent merrily on his way.
Perhaps another half an hour slipped by and our wayward fiend came weaving along again. Only this time he was weaving down the middle of the road, diving at the yellow divider whenever a car would approach from the opposite direction (causing them to halt in case he did cross the center line into their lane).
A few days later I came across this piece in the Seattle Times police blotter:
There was doubt in neither my friend’s mind nor mine that he was suicidal. Although dousing oneself in gasoline directly from the pump seems a bit dramatic.
Most likely he’s a veteran, perhaps from the Iraqi war, with not much in the way of hope or plans or (probably) social support. I would like to feel sorry for him, but he’s rather acting like a dick.
Well, I hope he gets his shit figured out and puts his life back in order. Alternatively, I hope he finds a path to suicide which doesn’t co-opt the lives of others into his scheme.