A series of recollected hallucinations from my early weeks of hospitalization, 2016.
A nursing assistant — who I believe was an actual fellow at Hoboken University Medical Center — was placing me in some odd situations. The clearest one was an after-hours party, which seemed to be held at a motel, yet it was still the hospital. I was in a room filled with Asian people. It was late and they were all going to sleep. The lights were off. I figured, I should leave now. But there were people on the floor, and it was very difficult to step around them without waking anyone up. If I could just reach the door!
Suddenly I woke up a very old man. He was furious. I wasn’t allowed to leave — I was offending their sacred cultural traditions! I said I was very sorry, that I wasn’t aware of the customs.
The nursing assistant finally revealed what was going on. He was putting me in these scenarios as a test, to see how I’d react. He was very pleased with the outcome, and insisted I come to an improv club with him. Mobility was an issue but he explained it was right here in town, he’d get me there. Huh? There wasn’t an improv club in Hoboken. Yet, directly across the street from the 9th Avenue exit of Port Authority, there was a club. I remember thinking, that’s not Hoboken. But, I reasoned that if the end of the pier of the Weehawken Sheraton is, due to a cartographic quirk, technically in Hoboken (this is true), perhaps this piece of land was also Hoboken.
Inside, there was an upstairs waiting area to get into the downstairs theater. I was stationed up there as a “staffer,” but my real role was to keep the crowd entertained as they waited. So I launched into this extremely self-deprecating character I’d developed, continually apologizing to people, who were ignoring me. And the deeper this routine got, the funnier it became. I thanked a cute little boy for not ignoring me, and he countered by giving me the finger. Hilarious! There was also an old African-American woman with two little grandsons. The boys were being very rude to me and the woman could barely conceal her delight.
After the show, I was the toast of the town. Everybody from the club loved this character I’d dreamed up. They’d already marked me down on the schedule for a future performance. Kristen Wiig was in the crowd. A woman I’m very fond of was also randomly there, and I was so pleased she was seeing me in my glory. And it turned out the old grandma was someone famous in disguise; the nursing assistant said to make sure I got her phone number, as she wanted to work with me. I was so happy — I had finally “made it”!
No, I hadn’t. Turns out it was all an elaborate hoax, and everyone there was involved. (My brain must have concocted this from the classically cruel Improv Everywhere bit “Best Gig Ever,” as chronicled on This American Life.) Everyone had been told in advance how to respond to me. I was devastated. I’d really thought I’d come up with something clever, but it was all a lie. And to add insult to injury — salt in the wound, you might say — people on the street kept reacting to me as if I was still “in character” for days afterwards. “It’s not funny anymore!” I’d shout at them.
Comedy is not pretty, my friends.
Hallucination #1: Harry Connick Jr.
I venture into ‘home care’ outside nursing facilities,
one of the men will sometimes watch repeating episodes of “Law and Order”.
The last stretch of ‘SVU’ shows i saw w/ him had a similar “elaborate hoax” element that ends your halicunation. Lie upon lie after lie then another lie
were to be the scripts. Perhaps a compelling plotline in a novel but a tv show,
too psycho. Silver lining to these viewing is i’m captivated that Lieutenant Benson
in real life is daughter of Jayne Mansfield. Old geezer at the facility told me that.
The Mansfield connection is pretty cool.