I’ve talked often about other people’s crazy, whether it be my own children or strangers in public… because in my mind, they’re the crazy ones. I’ve always been the fun, behind-the-scenes crazy.

Tonight, however, I humbly accept my membership badge into a new society: the crazy IN PUBLIC club.

Let me first provide you with an example of a fellow member.

I was in Target late the other night, waiting on line behind a couple that was buying cat food, potato chips, & soda. I don’t usually note people’s purchases, but in THIS case, it’s relevant.

Remember: cat food, potato chips, soda.

The couple looked to be in their mid-50’s. He put the items on the belt as she chatted with the cashier. It was small talk, pleasant nothingness. Until I noticed THIS about her… I’ll let my tweet sum it up:

 

No one acknowledged this trainwreck, & they left the store, carrying any possibility of me ever knowing WTF was going on away with them & their chips, cat food, & soda.

 

So I left the store confirming that:

a- They were fricking nuts.

b- This was typical, since outings of any kind generally result in my attracting the loonies like magic, as I’ve described here. It’s a gift.

But tonight, I learned a lesson about being quick to judge a person based on what you see/hear. or how slippery the slope of “normalcy” can be.

Or rather, I learned I’m far more capable of public crazy than I thought.

Before I explain why I ended up barking at a raccoon, let me give you some childhood trauma that justifies it.

When I was 7, my parents took us to visit an aunt’s house one night. I must have fallen asleep on the ride over, (which also probably explains why I never liked to nap… ever.ever.again).

Because this was the 80’s, my parents decided to just, you know, leave their sleeping child IN THE CAR while they headed in.

 

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Disclaimer: This was also the same generation of parents that needed a TV COMMERCIAL to remind them to look for their kids. Remember that? “It’s 10pm; do you know where your children are?” 

And I guess my parents didn’t watch enough TV, because they left me behind again, a year later, when they went for pizza with family members.

THEY HAD TWO KIDS. How do you forget 50% of your offspring??

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Disclaimer 2: My parents were awesome parents. Seriously. Despite leaving me behind & needing to be reminded by my BROTHER that I wasn’t there, they were great.

And they even came back for me that day… so there’s that.

You know. It was the 80’s.

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I woke up in the car, & walked to the house’s side door. There was a narrow path where the garbage cans were.

As I walked.. I looked into a can. A huge raccoon popped up and lunged at me.

I didn’t get scratched, or bitten.

I did get a nice, big, fat fear of raccoons from that day on.

I’ve never seen a raccoon in person since, but that didn’t stop my family from bombarding me with them any time a new YouTube clip or gif featured one.

The sight of them makes me feel so disgusted that I actually gag, & that kind of trauma is hilarious in my family. Apparently.

Things like THIS:

See… it’s all fun & games & dancing until the raccoon turns on you & bites your face off (Or tries to).

 

What is this black magic?! Further proof they’re from the devil. Ugh.

 

 Using their hands to bang s^&% on windows for FOOD?? Why is this even possible???  *gag*

I’ve managed to avoid any direct contact with this fear… until tonight. I looked out the living room window, & saw a shadow streak across my lawn & into the street. I threw the window open, thinking it was our cat. Nope.

It was a big, fat raccoon, just about to slip into the sewer.

In panic, I let out a short yell. Instead of heading into the sewer, the raccoon turned its head my way, sat there & stared.at.me.

*Cue a gag & a scream.*

Logic says, “close the window”. Or, “walk away.”

I had no logic. Zip. Zilch.

It didn’t move… it was staring me down.

So I shouted again. And it stared, again.

NOPE. You don’t get to sit there, all arrogant, on MY street, when I’m a grown-ass woman that needs you to GO.

Then I… barked? Or maybe it was a growl?

Because like I said, grown-ass woman.

(Most of the time.)

My yelling wasn’t working, so I made a noise that I thought COULD scare it off. It was enough to attract #2’s attention, who came down the stairs asking, “Why are you growling out the window?”

(God bless #2, for not questioning the growling, but the out-the-window aspect.)

So I pointed it out, & she laughed, HARD, because she’s my family & knows of my phobia of them, and that’s comedy in my family.

Apparently.

A moment later, the raccoon lifted its body up abruptly -my growling was that good- & ran away across my neighbor’s yard.

And I don’t mean ran in a shamed, humble manner.

Ran as in a “black magic from the devil on just its hind feet” run.

So it took facing a raccoon after 34 years to make me, an otherwise sensible & mentally stable adult, shriek like a stuck pig out my front window, growling like a dog.

My neighbors don’t know that I had a terrifying childhood experience with a raccoon.

They won’t know that there even was a raccoon in the street that night.

They’ll just have shaken their heads & said, “That lady- the one with the six kids? She’s fricking nuts.”

I get it, Target lady. I get it.

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