The crazy thing that happened at the post office, let me tell you about hmmm.

Last Sunday evening I went to the post office. The parking lot was empty so I didn't expect anyone to be inside the little P.O. box room. Half way down the aisle to box #1466 I heard a husky voice whisper, "is it safe to be here?" Awh man! Crazy, you know your my very favorite ever, but I've got a serious case of the tired and I wanna go homes. I was tempted to shout back over my shoulder, "Nope. Your in danger. Leave me alone". I'm so very glad that I didn't. The hour and 45 minutes that followed were well worth my time!

Well I'll be damned! Jedi Master Yoda...what the hell are you doing here? Female Yoda repeated her question only this time in her native tongue, "safe to be here is it...hmm?" "Safe from what" I asked her? sand people, Darth Vadar, one of the sith lords? I knew Star Wars could really happen - In yo' face 2nd grade teacher! 

At that point I didn't find out what her specific unsafe was. I instead asked her if she had a safe place to spend the night (post office doesn't count). " I have a home but I am homeless". Ok next question, "Can you tell me about your situation? She was a total pro. She answered my questions with a detailed account of what happened rather than how she felt about what happened (i usually get more of the latter). We started with her current circumstances and worked our way backwards. For you I'm gonna take it from the top.

In 1973 she moved from Iran to Sweden. After a few months in Sweden she came to the U.S. She was a physician. She practiced medicine in Indiana and Ohio then worked her way west to California where she opened what turned out to be a very successful practice as an OB/GYN.

In 2007 she moved into a senior residence. Everything was fine there at first, but about a year into being there she was sexually abused. She reported the abuse to the police then relocated to her current home, a senior care facility in San Juan Capistrano. She had been there for 6 months when items began missing from her room. She was creeped out to be there so that is why she was hiding out in the Post Office.

Farib (her name) was very articulate, she spoke fantastic English, great vocab, really calm demeanor; until that is anyone else entered our safe little place. She'd shake and stare them down. Then when they'd leave she'd say, "I can't tell if they could be trusted!" eventually she'd work her way back to normal-ish.

"Farib what are you afraid of? I need to know how I can help you?" I asked her. Her request "I need shelter. Not for long, just enough time to fill out the necessary paperwork to renew my passport and return to England to be with my sister." That sounded easy enough, what are we lookin at an hour or two? "Why don't you go to the library?" I asked "because I am muslim...they don't want me there". That may or may not be the case, but it wasn't our only option so I wasn't gonna push. Another person walked through the door, Farib got all paranoid & shakey like before. Once we were alone again she looked at me like she was lookin for the truth, squinting with one twitchy eye. "a social worker you are?"I didn't answer. She spoke something in Farsi and then said, "speak". "I'm a case manager at a women's shelter". I don't know why I didn't' want to tell her, maybe because I knew I wouldn't be allowed to bring her in. Unfortunately my job didn't increase my ability to help.

"Praise be to your god" she shouted out..."you have been sent to help me, to keep me safe. I can't trust you because I don't know you. I can only trust what I think I know...that you won't lie to me & you won't hurt me", that's what she said to me.

I presented a plan. I'd take her back to the senior center that night, the following day after work I would go talk to the manager and the police if need be. Then I could represent at the library while she filled out her forms. Farib was standing there with a million mile stare. I figured she was considering my proposition. She wasn't. "ssshhhh! can you hear that?! do you hear the voices!?!"

Damn lady, you just keep getting better! 1st your super freaky getting molested story, now voices...la la la...somebody just made the cut for my blaAog!

I listened carefully and heard the sound of talk radio. "Farib, someone must be working in the back of the building, its just a radio". I'm not gonna lie; I was disappointed that it wasn't a poltergeist :(
She dropped her head into her hands. She was so discouraged.  What I said next didn't help, "Farib, I'm going to suggest something to you and I don't want you to be offended. As a physician you understand the effect that extreme stress can have on your mind. AHEM...do you think that you may be experiencing psychosis?" That totally pissed her off. "NO I'M NOT EXPERIENCING PSYCHOSIS!" then more Farsi. "Alright, Alright! so your not crazy" (wink).

I noticed that she'd default to Farsi when it seemed that I was getting off track, so I asked, "do you have a community of people from Iran or know any other muslims that would be able to offer support for you now, do you belong to a mosque?" "Blagh!" she balked. "I left the mosque!" She glared at me when she asked, "Do you know what I mean when I say that some of the people there were bad?" I said I did, but I really didn't. I mean in my Jenny Mastain ultimate fantasy land of Farib's life I had an idea, but for the sake of factual story telling I can't confirm any of it...they were probably just perv's.

She started up again with the voices. She went on to explain that sometimes the voices came to her from people that she was able to see. Other times she couldn't see any people, but she knew they were there. "They tell me to kill myself by stepping in front of a bus or slicing my neck open. They tell me I'm worthless. They tell me to take all of my money and give it to people that I don't even know. Their words are evil." "Farib, I'm doing my best to understand and I want to believe you. I'm trying to think of what the voices could be. I have a theory. Its REALLY crazy, very unconventional. A super out there potential explanation of where the voices may be coming from." She was defeated. She looked at me so helpless and sweet. I took a deep breath and asked, "Do you think there's a chance that the evil words your hearing could be the voices of demons?  ya know like minions of satan...sent from hell? you guys have all that right? so yeah...demons, whuddaya think?" She exhaled an exasperated groan, raised her tiny little hands with their stubby little fingers into the air and yelled, "of course they are demonic-what did you think I was talking about!? There are demons hunting me!"

We stood there quiet for a minute or 2 until I said, "Is that what you meant by safe to be here?" She just gave me one big yes nod. well then, I'll just be on my way sooper spookster i think my work here is done. I had hoped to lure her into saying, "may the force be with you" before I left...maybe next time.

I handed her my business card and asked for her phone number. She reached into her bag and pulled out a large stack of papers. There were police reports, legal files, diplomas...all kinds of documents. She sifted through until she found a laminated paper with copies of several different forms of ID. Drivers Licenses from CA, OH & IN. Swedish ID and her passport from Iran.

Something was different about her very oldest form of identification. "Huh?" I said totally perplexed. "that's funny...weird...hmpf?" I looked at Farib and then back at the passport photo..."Farib? your passport picture doesn't look like you...I mean you look totally different in this picture?" I looked up at her again. She was smirking at me with a raised eyebrow.
Ladies and Gentlemen, are you ready for the best freakin part of this story?

She used to be a dude.

I'll tell you what, it just doesn't get any better than that.

What do you say? I'll tell you what I heard...first there were kisses, then then there were sighs...the crying game. Except she was post-op bitches!

My inner monologue was goin off, "shocked? who me? no not at all...gender reassignment surgery is the new nose job...isn't it an outpatient procedure these days".  I'm not sure what was blocked by the filter and what made its way out. I just remember our time together ending with a tight embrace, "talk to you tomorrow" and a kiss on the lips...that's cultural right?

Monday I received a text from Farib that basically said it was all good; she was at the police station handling it. Haven't been able to reach her since.

I've spent the last 2 months pretending that I can live on the money I make at the shelter. I've known that I need to get another job for a while now. I resist mass emailing my resume because I love what I do, I love meeting, helping, interacting with and learning from wacky interesting people. When I re-read Farib's text I realized that it doesn't matter where I work. There is no shortage of wacky interesting people in the world. We'll find each other. I probably won't go to 1st base with all of them, but I'm sure I'll learn a thing or two.