Poop Shute

David Luna

The name is changed to protect the man. I was in line at the bank Saturday morning behind him. I was there to make a withdrawal too large for the ATM, and the place was packed. I was probably waiting in line behind the man for a good fifteen minutes, and during that time I observed some odd behavior.

First I will describe him for you. He was heavy-set, latino man about my age. He was wearing a navy blue wool beany and dark sunglasses, a baggy plain white t-shirt, baggy black Dickie pants, and solid white tennis shoes. His dark goatee matched his dark eyes and the dark expression that he wore for most of the time I observed him. The above photo is just something I found on Google, but its very close to what he looked like.

The guy was continuously moving. He never stopped shifting his weight from foot to foot, turning around to look all around him, taking his sunglasses off, putting them back on. It never ended. A few times he was literally dancing right there in line at the bank. He would sporadically bust out some hiphop moves and finish with the "B-Boy stance." He was also kind of twitchy and frenetic with most of his movements. At first I thought he was on something, but the more I observed him the more I think he might have been high-functioning autistic or mentally retarded or something like that.

Then he began silently talking to imaginary people. He would look out over the heads of those in line around us and stare fixedly at a point on the wall and have a very animated conversation with it. His lips were moving, and he'd react to some kind of responses, but never made a sound. He'd laugh at something funny that the point on the wall said, or he'd shake his head and mouth the word "no." Or he'd get a very angry expression if the wall said something he didn't seem to like.

I probably should have been a little concerned at this point because I was starting to think maybe he's just crazy and whatever the conversation was about was clearly getting him agitated. Like I said, I probably should have been concerned, but I was so fascinated I didn't even think about that until just now as I am writing about it.

Just before we reached the front of the line he began writing on a piece of paper in his hand. It was a name. I can only assume it was his name. I'm thinking he was practicing his signature for whatever slips he would need to sign at the teller. DAVID LUNA was scrawled very poorly in all capital letters, and barely legibly, three times on the paper in his hand.

As the rat-maze line meandered past the little table with the deposit slips and chained-down pens, Mr Luna grabbed the little built-in waste basket out of the table, pulled it out and left it sitting on top of the table for no apparent reason. He nodded and smiled at it as though this new change was very satisfying for him.

The thing that was really striking to me was that we were surrounded on all sides by dozens and dozens of people, all waiting for a teller, and not one other person seemed to be noticing this man. Either they were consciously not taking any note of it, or they were just oblivious. By their body language and facial expressions I'd have to say that they were just oblivious, but who knows. Maybe they've all developed great poker faces after living in this crazy city for so long.

Luna and I were called up to two tellers side-by-side at the same time, and as I made my withdrawal I continued to observe him. At first when he started talking to the teller I thought they must know each other, because he was asking some very familiar questions of her:

David: Hi. How's your mom? ...Good? How's your grandma? ...Good? How's your dad?

This went on for a little while, he must have asked her about every relation possible. For a second I was convinced they must know each other. I thought he must be the harmless neighborhood mentally challenged guy. Then I started observing the teller's reactions. I couldn't clearly hear her responses at first, but her body language was tense and guarded, and her face was confused. Finally, I did hear her quite clearly say "Sir, you can't ask me about those things, what banking can I do for you today?"

At that point I was done with my transaction and had to leave. I can't help but wonder what his story really is. Was he mentally challenged? On drugs? Just plain crazy? I will likely never know, but I don't think I will ever forget the experience.