I’ve always believed I attract crazy people. Case in point:
While standing at my desk this morning, the phone rings.
It’s one of the security guards downstairs.
Not just any guard – it’s Dan. We’re on first-name relations. Why? ‘Cause the one person we both dread seeing has dropped by the building. For the fourth time. In three weeks.
It’s this middle-aged Korean lady who wanted me to find someone to do a story. She’s somehow here in the country illegally, because she tried to get from her native South Korea to the United States, but she says her immigration attempts were foiled by her country’s government.
What else? Ummm … she came up with this medicine, which she tried to get patented, but to no avail, because the Korean government interfered with that, too. And her secret serum somehow ended up in the hands of last year’s Nobel Peace Prize winners for Chemistry. (I barely know how to spell “chemistry” on my best days, let alone understand it.)
I’m sure some of you have sympathy for her. I did, too. At first. That was mainly because her English – spoken or written – wasn’t the best.
Then I found a colleague who speaks Korean – and has better judgement than me – to talk to her and translate.
She thinks everyone is conspiring against her. I’m not just talking about her homeland’s government. I mean, the U.S. Patent Office, and even her own family, who’s tried to put her in a mental institution. Twice. And disowned her.
She even gave me one week to get back to her and decide whether we can interview her. And I called her back earlier in the week and left a message at the place she was staying and said, “No interview.”
Apparently to her that translates to, “No interview today. Try again tomorrow.”
I even said to her face, “We can’t do this story. No interview. None.” I explained to her why. Or, at least I tried.
I’m waiting for the phone calls to start.