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About JimAbout Jim
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With regard to his mental illness, Jim was unremarkable. Probably hearing voices, doubtless suffering delusions, shy and soft-spoken, Jim was nothing special from a clinical perspective. He took his meds, and he said a few goofy things, but mostly he kept to himself grinning at the mischief he could stir up. While in institution he had picked up a number of annoying, albeit, amusing proclivities. Almost bereft of any social skills, Jim was a loner who preferred to wander the streets of Flint from sun up to sundown. Although Jim attended the treatment at our charming downtown mental health facility, he often headed out onto the streets for more serious entertainment.
Now, Jim's unusual locomotion was visually arresting, and he was certain to catch the attention of passersby, but Jim's real strength was his ability to gross out most onlookers at will. It was this characteristic which caused the erstwhile citizens of Flint who recognized him to cross the street to avoid contact with him. Often, I watched in awe, as he would catch the eye of an oncoming pedestrian, place a finger on one nostril, blow whatever snot he could muster down the front of his shirt, then stop in front of the stranger to beg for a smoke or money. His timing was impeccable, so there was usually residue of snot remaining on his nose, that last strand of mucous fluid which slowly jiggled to a stop when he halted his forward motion. After softly asking for a smoke or money, Jim would cap his performance off with his trademark gap-toothed grin, which showed his remaining teeth in all their yellow/brown stained glory. Another satisfied customer! Jim's favorite targets were older women who were dressed well and had a "proper" or "genteel" look about them. As Jim stood in front of them, usually close enough to invade their personal space thoroughly, his snot-encrusted beard, mustache and shirt dangerously close to touching them, he would beam with pride at his "catch of the day".
Another of Jim's favorites was dumpster diving in the trash baskets on the light poles. Flint had invested in metal trash baskets which had a bracket welded on one side that allowed attachment to a pole via large clamps. There were two or three per block in the downtown area. I would occasionally watch Jim as he gimped down the street, checking each receptacle in turn for discarded soda bottles/cans, smoking materials e.g. cigarette or cigar butts, and foodstuffs. The soda bottles/cans were stashed in a coat pocket, or pants pocket in the warmer months. Good for a 10-cent deposit, he treated them as prizes. Unfortunately, he often forgot to make sure they were entirely empty before he stuck them in his pockets, resulting in more than one wet dribble down his pants or coat. If he had found a beer container, however, he would drain it eagerly before putting it away. And yes, he had picked up beer bottles with urine in them, and no, they didn't faze him much.
Any cigarette or cigar butts he found were immediately smoked if he didn't have a lit smoke in his mouth at the time. If he was puffing on a butt at the time, he'd merely pop his treasure into his shirt pocket file cabinet for later use.. Of course, his search for smokables was ongoing and not confined to just trash containers. Often Jim would be fortunate enough to pick up a still-lit butt dropped from a passing car or by a pedestrian. He would consume these still-lit butts a la Cheech or Chong sucking a roach down to nothing. The complementary burns and stains on his fingers stood mute testimony to his avid desire to get the last from each glub-given tobacco hit provided him.
The true highlight was when Jim found an item of food. Upon digging it out, he would stuff it in his mouth and, glub willing there would be a victim for him to approach. He seemed to delight at their queasy reaction to watching him scarf down a sandwich scrap from the trash. I've witnessed him mutter something along the lines of "Tastes good" to his victim, as he walked past with crumbs of discarded trash food in his beard.
Jim came to our program for a long while and was good for numerous "gross out" adventures. He didn't belong in our program, however. He was eventually transferred to a program for the chronic population, and I would only occasionally see him in the downtown area. In the intervening time, the city of Flint had acquired a block grant to fix up the downtown, and had built a park along the grimy river that flowed downtown. There were various paved walkways, benches and reflecting pools which the city engineers had constructed, seemingly for the benefit of the indigent and gangs who hung out there. One of the last times I remember seeing Jim was on a lunchtime walk through the park. It was one of those beautiful early spring days, so I took a nice leisurely walk after eating. As I rounded a blind corner to head back up a long ramp structure, I encountered Jim, sitting on a bench, wanking furiously, eyes closed. I sensed he wasn't aware of my presence yet, and I tried to exit, stage left, as noiselessly as I could. Unfortunately, my shoe scraped a pebble on the sidewalk, and from the corner of my vision, I saw Jim's eyes jerk open. He recognized me immediately and greeted me in a soft voice. I turned back to face him, more slowly this time, and to my dismay he hadn't seen fit to let go of his member and was still working it over furiously. I returned a hasty acknowledgement, spun around, and had made it all of 15 feet when I heard him sigh his way through his greasy climax. Damn! As much as I had tried not to be one of his dupes, I was forced to admit that he had gotten me. I had just become another one of his gross out victims.
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