Feeling: discombobulated
Listening to: Josh reading Trivial Pursuit questions to me (we work *hard* in this office)
Reading/Watching: nothing

On my way out to get lunch, I was driving down 36th (the winding, hellish two-lane pot-hole fest we like to call the street behind the St. Moo campus) and saw a woman standing in the middle of the road.

She was about forty, maybe fifty years old, huge spectacles, wild frizzy hair, and what looked like a screaming maw empty of teeth. She wore pajama bottoms and a sleeveless white shirt, and didn't seem to care that my car was coming straight for her.

I considered going into the oncoming traffic lane to avoid her, but there were cars coming, and since she walked out into the center of my lane and squatted, glaring at my car, I had to stop.

She stood, gesturing, yelling at me to hit her. I wasn't quite sure what to do, so sat there like an idiot, shaking my head, wondering whether I could ask her to move, or whether that would just incense her further.

She continued speaking, although I couldn't make it out over Blue October playing on the stereo, and slammed her fist into the hood of my car before walking around the side toward my window.

I took that as my cue to pound on the gas pedal and get the hell out of there. She tried punching at my window as I drove past, and the sound of her fist whacking the glass right next to my face made me jump. For a second I was afraid the window would shatter, or crack, but it held.

I drove away, and the surrealism of the moment held me for several blocks until I had the presence of mind to pull over, check my car for damage, and call the police.

Luna's hood and window are fine, although there's a centimeter-long crack in the glass that I'm not sure was there before. The police operator said someone had already called about Crazy Street-Squatting Lady, and a squad car was on the way.

People in this city are so, so weird.

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