FAT-BRAIN GUY

                                                FAT-BRAIN GUY



         Sometime in the last 7 months fat-brain guy arrived on the compound. No one really remembers his actual arrival, only that he showed up and was instantly a figure of infamy.



         He’s fairly tall, probably 6’2’’ or so, with an acne scarred face and a ruddy complexion. His hair is cut short and he never seems to wash it. But it’s his eyes that always stand out to me. They are always wide open and seriously intense. They give me the creeps. The irises are strangely colored and in the right light appear cloudy.



         He began coming to the library shortly after his arrival looking for information on medication. My co-workers, knowing medicine and biology is one of my areas of “expertise”, directed him to me. So I introduced myself.



         “Whoa, seriously? He said. “You’ll never guess what my name is!”

         “Oh, what is it?” I asked.

         “No seriously guess,” he says.

          I frown at him and say my name again.

              “Exactly! How weird is that? And you know what’s weirder?” he says conspiratorially. See that guy over there? He points to one of my friends. “That’s his name too!”

          (Just for clarification I absolutely do not have an unusual or rare name. )

              “Oh,” I say quietly. “Yeah that sure is weird.”

        At this point I realize that yet another crazy person has found their way to me. I swear to God I am a magnet for the delusional!

              “So,” I continue on, “What’s your question about medicine?”

              “My cellie smells like metal.”

              “Okay.”

              “And he burps. He’s on like a dozen pills but he won’t tell me what is wrong with him. Isn’t that wrong? I mean I have to live with the guy. What if he’s contagious?”

              “I don’t think medical would put you with someone…”

              “I took one of his empty bottles,” he interrupts. “I want to know what’s wrong with him. I mean come on man he smells like metal…and chemicals.”



        I hate it when other inmates pry into the private business of other inmates but I also wasn’t about to deny him a book. So I give it to him and walk away. He keeps asking me questions but I politely blow him off. Eventually he figures it out and leaves.

        I heard later that he started going around his unit looking for a new place to live. The problem, however, was that no one passed his test? Turns out he was asking to smell the feet of his potential cellmates to make sure they didn’t offend his sense of smell!