The Grinders, Part III

"The Grinders, Part II" 

During the day, I was set in a gathering area, crowded by mental patients. It was a giant room with plaster-colored walls with no windows, a grey carpet and bright fluorescent lights. One side of the room opened to a hallway leading to sleeping quarters, and the other side opened to a dining area. Hospital workers first led me into the gathering area, through a pair of manila doors containing long rectangular windows. Doctors and nurses would enter and leave through these doors, sometimes bringing patients in and out. There also was a featureless steel door in one corner of the room, and it was kept closed.

Chairs were scattered about the gathering area, and some small tables were situated against walls. A few patients would sit at these tables, some scribbling or writing. However, most would wander the room. A medium-sized television was situated in the center of the room, and it was the object which seemed to draw the most attention from patients.

One of the first patients I encountered was known as Plastic Man. He would constantly put tape on objects: walls, tables, chairs, the floor, and even people. Plastic Man enveloped the television screen in masking tape, making it look like a glowing aquarium. Soon afterward, a burly patient shoved Plastic Man, pulled his hair, and removed the tape. Plastic Man tried putting strips on the television on a few other occasions, but was quickly stopped. Finally, he gave up on this practice, and learned to sit on the floor and gaze at the screen.

On one of my first days in the asylum, I saw an elderly man on the television. He had oversized ears, wide glazed eyes, and a shaved head. He would slowly turn and cock his head as he spoke. He said, "We're going to talk to you about the most urgent thing that is on our mind and what we suspect is the most urgent thing on the minds of those who will connect with us. We'll title this tape . . ."

The man on the television said, "Uhhh," as he tilted his head and rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. Then he continued, "`Planet Earth: About to be Recycled'. Your only chance to evacuate is to leave with us."

"Whoa, this is deep stuff," I heard someone call.

"Planet Earth: about to be recycled. Your only chance to survive or evacuate--"

An overweight woman patient changed the channel, and began to twist madly at the dial on the television.

Someone yelled, "Hey, I was watching that!"

Another patient bellowed, "Great, now how will we escape getting recycled?"

A young, skinny man hit the channel-changing woman's left ear, and she responded by knocking him to the floor. The burly patient who had previously shoved Plastic Man grumbled, "That guy on TV is totally whacked. He started a cult, and got all his members to castrate themselves and kill themselves, believing their souls would float up to a UFO trailing the comet. He went with them. Any one of you who listens to him is a retard."*

"Are you saying we need to cut our balls off?" asked the patient who had inquired about how to escape Armageddon.

Despite having been punched, the overweight woman continued twisting at the channel-changing dial. She would interrupt television viewing with regularity, going through channels at lightning speed. Her left ear swelled and turned black. She punched her right ear, and it swelled larger than the left.

On one occasion, a group of male patients gathered around the channel-changing woman. A bead of saliva slithered down one man's chin. Within an hour, his five o'clock shadow adorned a grey film, and a dark spot was on his collar. The film hardened to a white, fungus-like crust. Some of the female patients were mesmerized by her as well, and I noticed a doctor who would eye the channel-changing woman, even as snot dangled out her nose.

Once, as I watched her twist the television dial, I heard a scream like that of a petite girl. Plastic Man hobbled around the room, howling and trailing blood across the floor. A tack was embedded in his big toe.

The next day, there was another scream. Plastic Man hopped on a bandaged foot, trying to pull something out of his other foot. He fell to the floor, crying. Tacks were in both of his feet.

Every day, plastic man would step on tacks. Sometimes he would inch across the room, with his head leaning toward the floor. Other times, he would casually transverse the asylum corridor. Then his foot and shoulders would jerk upward, and he would holler.

Soon after that, the staff searched everyone. They discovered a patient who had a stash of tacks. One doctor opened the steel door at the corner of the room, and another doctor ushered him through. The doctors closed the door behind them, and the patients seemed to flinch. This was the first time I had ever seen the door open.

For once, Plastic Man did not step on a tack. The next day, nothing happened. Then a week went by.

I continued to watch Plastic Man, for I was unconvinced of the remedy. Finally, I saw him collapse, and I found six tacks in his foot. A doctor gruffly pulled Plastic Man up, and escorted him through the steel door. It closed with a loud clang. Afterward, all of the patients gazed blankly at the door.


* Author's note: Tragically, the mass suicide described by the burly patient actually occurred, and the quote from the cult leader was real.

"The Grinders, Part IV"