Remembering the parrot lady

Today’s Wego health post: Tell a descriptive story about a memory.


This isn’t a health memory, but it will make you laugh and laughter is always good for your health. 

In college I worked at a hotel that was on campus that also served as an information center for the university. It was a great job for many reasons, one of them being that life was never boring on campus. We had some repeat customers, people that we learned to hide from if we saw them walking down the hall. The rule was the last person standing was stuck helping one of the various weirdos that came our way on a regular basis.

My personal favorite weirdo was nicknamed “Parrot lady.” Picture a teeny tiny women with massive amounts of curly black hair that has never been brushed or washed. Next picture this tiny lady with the biggest, brightest red colored bag you can imagine, a bag with a picture of a giant neon green parrot. Next add to the picture the biggest, ugliest parrot earrings you can think of. Then add some pink sweatpants, and you’ll get the picture of this women.

The parrot lady spent her days wandering around campus asking people weird questions. We dreaded her visits because she just wouldn’t ever leave, she would talk and talk and talk. Talk in itself isn’t bad, but nothing she ever said made any sense. I never figured out if she was crazy or just high all the time.

So here comes parrot lady down the hall. All three of us working make a mad dash for the back room so we don’t get stuck talking to her for the next to hours.

It’s an Olympic sprint.

I’m in the lead!

I’m going to make it!

I trip over my heels.

I fall behind.

It’s too late.

I get to deal with the parrot lady.

Crap.

It just makes me laugh to think about it now. To think of the days when my biggest problem was being stuck talking to the parrot lady. Now that I’m older and a slightly more thoughtful person, I can’t help but feel sorry for this women. She clearly had no one to take care of her and no one to talk to, which is why she felt the need to talk to a bunch of jerk college students. It’s been eight years since I’ve seen the parrot lady and I’ll never forget her. Maybe she was crazy, but wouldn’t it be nice if people remembered each of us after such a long a time?

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