We got back from a very nice dinner with our friends, only to find a psychotic¹ man in our stairwell.

Pam hustled Q up to bed while I tried to find out what was going on and what the man's deal was. I couldn't really figure out more than he needed a ride somewhere--maybe to his sister-in-law's, but he wouldn't or couldn't give me her number. Pam came down and dusted off her clinical history and did a more thorough assessment. Eventually she asked me to hang out with him so she could look up the cab company's phone number [turns out it is 911--who knew?]. The other neighbors, and I, had presumably called in "homeless man in stairwell." Pam called in "agitated mental patient, discharged from the hospital today, who seems disoriented and angry at times."

The police showed up not at all for my call--very quickly for hers. Go figure.

The officer showed up right as I was bringing the hapless gentleman a hot cup of tea. Oh. Yeah. I'm guessing that the officer or his colleagues have had scalding hot liquids thrown at them when situations deteriorated. I didn't think about that angle. Pam asked what I was thinking. I was thinking: "Wet, weary, lost, confused, probably thirsty...I'd want tea." He did leave with my umbrella--we have at least three. This guy had a hospital bracelet in his pocket and a plastic bag full of what looked like it might be at least part of a change of clothes.

The officers sounded liked they planned to give him a ride to Woodburn [local mental health services unit] so he could voluntarily be re-admitted.

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¹I say that because he told us after prettypammie drew him out a little, what medicine he was supposed to be on, and that he was having a hard time staying on it--Pam couldn't remember what it was for, but she looked it up afterwards and it turned out to be an anti-psychotic.