Beauty is Skin Deep

On Wednesday night, while going to dry out the distributor on Jo’s car, my buddy and I were chatting about our lines of work.  As he talked of his peculiar customers and their odd habits, something he said triggered a sudden realization.

In driving my bus, I get to see all the non-functionals on Medicade.  What I realized that night is that there isn’t one among them who can be described as comely.  It’s understandable that those smitten by birth defects will not be attractive, as with Wally the Pinhead.  What’s not understandable is why the ones with mental problems are unattractive too.

I don’t mean they’re bucked-toothed, elephant-eared freaks.  It’s just that all their parts don’t go together right.  You could send them to a modeling school and no matter what was done, they’d still be unattractive.

In all my years driving the bus, I can think of only two people, both women, who would get hit on by men in a bar.  That they didn’t have chronically troubled minds is attested to by their attending only two sessions.  One told me that she came in because of PTSD, thanks to a marriage having gone sour at the same time she lost her professional job to the Bush Depression and became homeless.  In the first session, she saw a shrink, in the second, she picked up a prescription for something like Xanax.  She explained that the only reason she sought the clinic is that she was stony-assed broke and the care was free.  I took her home from both visits and that was the last anyone saw of her.  Oh, and she carried on an intelligent and animated conversation in route.

The other good-looker deigned conversation with an old fart who has to drive a bus at his age; she just sat there looking out the window with a wrinkled nose as if there were a bad smell.  I dropped her off at her nice condo and watched her brush off her skirt as she debarked.

It’s the other ones, the ones with long-term mental problems who are  homely.  However, because they’whammed out of shape by the drugs they’re given, I can’t say anything about native intelligence; some may actually be pretty sharp tacks.  But smart or not, they are all bat-shit crazy.

So one must wonder.  Are these people crazy because they’re ugly?  Or are they ugly because they’re crazy?  Maybe it is, as I suspect, a syndrome — two sides of the same unfortunate coin.

Or maybe it’s just me and my increasingly jaded view of things.


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