George His Mother Is 84 Years Old
Working at the Brooklyn Borough Hall branch today, I had the pleasure of meeting George, a customer I’ve never seen before. I’m not sure if he’s new to the game or if we’ve just been star-crossed until now, but here we are. George is white, healthy looking and relatively clean, and seems to be in his mid to late 50s. Like your typical OTB regular, he has at least one mental disorder, though I can’t exactly say which ones. Maybe OCD, I don’t know, we didn’t really get a chance to do some Rorschachs. He’s hyperactive, constantly walking around the branch at a brisk pace, and is extremely talkative. It’s pretty annoying but fortunately, he’s also really friendly and nonaggressive, which is a huge plus when it comes to customers (and other clerks.)
What made George stand out from the other bettors, even the mentally unstable and possibly-obsessive-compulsives, was that he’d reintroduce himself to me every time he made a bet. This also could be more annoying than it sounds, but he had the habit of adding a little bit of information with each reintroduction, keeping it interesting. Kind of like Memento, except not at all.
As soon as I opened my window he speed walked (sped walked?) up to me and asked me my name. A lot of clerks never give out their names, many women just give fakes. Usually I’m too lazy to lie but this time I didn’t mind anyhow; he seemed friendly enough at the get-go to let him know what my parents tagged me. He replied: “I’m George my mother is 84 years old.” I didn’t forget any commas or ellipses, he just never pauses during his sentences.
About ten minutes later he cashed his winning ticket and asked me: “Jack, right?” Yes. “I’m George my mother is 84 years old, I have twenty-one nieces and nephews.” Alright. I paid him, and he just stared at me awkwardly. Was that part of his introduction or had he commenced a topic of conversation in which I had not yet participated? After a couple of uneasy beats, I went back to my Spanish flashcards. He sped away.
Five minutes later: “I’m George my mother is 84 years old, I have twenty-one nieces and nephews, I’m Jewish German Mexican and Italian.”
He added a refrain the next time, almost making it melodic: “I’m George my mother is 84 years old, I have twenty-one nieces and nephews, I’m Jewish German Mexican and Italian, I have twenty-one nieces and nephews, I grew up in Bed-Stuy in the projects.” I don’t think the order was random, I think what he was implying was that he had a lot of nieces and nephews because his family loved to multiply and hence the diverse DNA. Maybe.
“I’m George my mother is 84 years old, I have twenty-one nieces and nephews, I’m Jewish German Mexican and Italian, I grew up in Bed-Stuy in the projects, eighteen years ago a woman threw a pot of boiling water onto my back.” He then tried to lift his shirt to show me the scars but stopped. That last line seemed a lot more dramatic than the other ones, but to him it was just another personal tidbit, one whose elaboration he never intended on giving.
He also was talking to the two ladies I was working with, and told one that he loved her and wanted to marry her and make babies with her. It was so innocent that it was barely sexual harassment but our manager rebuked him and he got scared and hid in the back by the vending machine for about a half hour before coming back to us (a half hour is probably like six months George time.)
The fun ended pretty early though, about two hours into the shift, after he made one final bet. He was eleven cents short and painfully tried to ask me to spot him the money, which I did with no hesitation. He lost the bet and then came to me and apologized, like I was going to break his thumbs for not paying me back the change. I said it was okay, he apologized again, I went back to my Spanish flashcards, and when I looked up again, George His Mother is 84 Years Old was gone. Maybe for good. Maybe not. He has 21 nieces and nephews.
