The weirdest shit always happens to me.

So tonight I walk out of my office building and I'm walking down the street digging in my bag for a smoke, when I walk past a very sophisticated woman learning in the doorway of Starbucks.

She was older and stately, lean and tall and carefully colored chestnut hair pulled neatly back in a sleek bun that gave her the look of an aging ballerina. Her pale and carefully made up face made had the gleam of a good face lift, giving her the appearance of being in her late forties when in actually she was probably in her sixties.

She softly said something to me as I passed and confused I stopped and said, "I beg your pardon," thinking she was asking for directions. As I leaned toward her, she leaned in and I got a good look.

She must have been a beauty when she was young and she had aged with grace. She was well dressed, in a black jersey pants suit with and stark white jersey shell. In her ears she wore gold earrings and around her neck she wore one of those very expensive new-agey crystal laurate pendants on a delicate silver chain that you might buy in one of those swanky boutiques in Aspen or St. Tropez.

Then she said the most startling thing to me, "Could you spare something?'

I still didn't understand her because she spoke in the softest, tone. I must have looked at her blankly because she continued.

"I have a job, here's my card with my name on it, and I don't have enough money to even get to work," as she extended one graceful hand with beautiful rings holding a business card tightly. " Then she placed both of her hands on either side of her temples in distress and gave me this painful look and spoke in fragments, "I'm am having the most terrible time...no one will stop...people walk by and ignore me...I am so frustrated with the white race...I am white...I'm seven years old...I've been living here 35 years...can you spare something, please."

Perhaps she mistakenly said seven and meant 70 but when I heard that I leaned away from her, afraid that she was mentally imbalanced and might hurt me if she became further confused or agitated.

I stood there torn, confused, not understanding this woman who looked like a family friend and not understanding how she could be left here to the streets to softly beg when she obviously no idea how to beg. She did not cry or break down. She wasn't drugged. She had a business card and jewelry and was clean and had obviously taken care of her appearance. yet, she didn't say she was mugged or forget her wallet or anything like that - she needed money.

I had nothing to say. I dug into my bag and grabbed my wallet and took some bills out of it and gave them to her even though I can barely afford to keep a roof over my own head and get myself to *my* job. I couldn't bear to make eye contact or reassure her , I turned and walked away as she thanked me.

I took a taxi home thinking about this woman and how she must have needed mental help. She must have been skitzophrenic or had alzheimers. I should have sent an officer to help her. I should have asked her if she needed help or if I could call someone for her. I should have done something more than give her a few dollars. What if her family is frantically looking for her? God forbid she wanders into trouble.

As I thought about all of this, suddenly a a loud smack made me and the taxi driver jump. I looked straight ahead and saw that while waiting at the red light, we had been hit by a water balloon. This guy didn't know what the hell was up. But I did.

I used to have a serious water balloon problem. Go ahead, laugh, but I am serious. I'm not talking childhood either, I'm talking just two years ago, when I was 26. I used to drop them from my apt. all fucked up. Until the police came banging on my door and took me and the Hurricane down to a squad car below. Put me in the squad car. For a fucking water balloon.

They had a little chat with me. Or specifically, they chatted *to* me because I refused to speak. Even to give my name. I've been through the whole police interrogation enough to not say a word. Even when they fuck with you. I sat there in silence as they told me that our balloon had caused an accident (it hadn't) and that the person went to the hospital. I said nothing when they recommended I " leave town for a few days."

I kid you not. I the NYPD told me I should leave town for a few days until "it blows over." I almost laughed outloud. Then they told me they were going to come back to my apt. in an hour to see if I was still there. Whatever.

Anyway, that was the end of the water ballooning. They had me on watch. So I curbed it.

Okay, I just lied. I didn't curb it. There was one "incident" on the following St. Patrick's Day, just before my 27th birthday. I brought a guy friend home, he had a great arm, another water balloon was thrown and nailed some thug at the checks cashed across the street, the thug called the cops and they came to my door. We saw them coming and turned out the lights and hid in the my closet in my bedroom until they left.

So I guess it was fate. But it scared the shit out of me. And what the hell are the chances of that happening anyway?

Welcome to my world, people.

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