Sitting in the Beer Garden, some broad at my table is talking about her social life or whatever. She's talking about what kind of people she will and will not permit in her life. "Yeah," she informs us all, "I can't stand mental people. You know, people with...whatever problem."
Now, it's not my place to jump into a conversation that isn't mine to begin with, but I couldn't resist. "Mental people? You mean crazy people? Artists?"
"Mmm hmm." She nodded her head enthusiastically as if I had just grasped a self-evident truth to which she had long been privy. All the while, she has her Fringe program open, circling the shows she wants to see.
"Who do you think puts on those shows?" I motioned to the program. "These 'mental people' that you refer to put themselves in very confusing and frightening places in order to come back with something that...you...[motioning to her] can hang on the wall." She didn't seem to understand what I was saying. "If it wasn't for these...'mental people'...this world, made by non-mental people like you, would be far less livable."
I pointed at the string of party lights above the table. "Who do you think discovered electricity? Who invented the light bulb?" I pointed at the guy playing the djembe. "Who do you think came up with that instrument? With the music?"
"If it wasn't for mental people, you'd be sitting on the ground, playing with your toes, wondering why life was so shitty. And I'll tell you why it would be shitty: The world would be influenced solely by the uninspired. You, missy, are privileged that these...mental people...would permit you to watch them work."
