Social Workin'

[True Story]1


“Hey Lady, I’m Jesus!” he said defensively. This was the third Jesus I had met today. If my eyes were closed his voice would’ve evoked visions of an intoxicated child trying to convince the adults around him of the Easter bunny’s existence. However, this wasn’t the case. My eyes were open; deer-in-headlights kind of open. I took in his unsteady gate, disheveled demeanor and salt and pepper stubble. Even Jesus, wouldn’t get a razor blade for daily shaves in this place.2

It was my second day at the hospital and Halloween was a week away. Seemed to me that they started celebrating early. But even with my rookie status, I knew you couldn’t pretend this kind of conviction. Jesus started shuffling his way towards me, waving his hands wildly, blessing the space between us. His movements were reminiscent of a platform shoe toting John Travolta combined with the infallible air of Pope John Benedict Paul the third or whoever runs the show nowadays. “Great, A Disco Jesus” I thought. He muttered prayers under his breath, head contorted downward, it appeared he wanted the lime green linoleum to repent.
“ Hail Mary Full Of Cock, the Lord is in me. Our father who farts in heaven, do not forgive those who fuck with me, Amen now and forever or until this afternoon.”3

I finished my own private prayer as he raised his head to meet my apprehensive gaze, now only a foot away. I realized rather quickly that I must have missed the lesson in class on whether or not you’re supposed to reinforce delusions of grandeur. I played out the repercussions in my head if I told him, “Actually your name is Bill. Up until 3 weeks ago you were living in your mothers basement lining the walls with aluminum foil”. No, that wouldn’t work. A montage of movie images flashed behind my eyes, drawing conclusions from the lessons I learned from Hollywood. Was this a “One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest” type of situation? I remember that one ending badly.4

I stood there in the dayroom, silent. Smiling from ear to ear, I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from nervously laughing, which was all I could think of doing. I introduced myself and fought the urge to dehumanize the man that stood in front of me. He wove in and out of lucidity like a New York driver during rush hour, and I did my best to keep up. The quicker he spoke the more spit went flying. I tried to dodge the arsenal of holy water flung at my face. I considered this my baptism into the world of mental health.
He paused for a second,
“Well are you a sinner or saint? Huh?”
I took in a deep breath of stale hospital air, “Neither, I’m a social worker.”