control most of the time, and a guy who is measured in all things. Then I meet you and 24 hours later I’m seriously considering the possibility that I may be falling in love with you.”
“Too many qualifiers, Philip; take out the ‘may.’ Commit to it.”
“Okay, Sophie, no qualifiers. When it comes to you I’m ruled by total emotion and not one scintilla of rational thought at this point. I love you. And it’s been less than 24 hours. Does this make any sense to you?”
“Of course, silly boy. And it’s not crazy. Sometimes you just know. I know.”
“But this living in Bloomingdales, its nuts and it’s dangerous. It makes no sense. I know you’re not crazy, maybe just a little. You canlive with me.” He paused and said surprising himself, “For the rest of your life.”
“I know, but I can’t, not just yet. I have to work it out.”
“Work what out? You’re a homeless person. Just move in with me. No strings.”
“I don’t mind strings if they’re strings that bind us. But, I’m not homeless. I have a home, in Bloomingdales. So, I can’t be homeless. What I am is a trespasser. Worse, I’m a habitual and compulsive trespasser. I know it sounds weird, but think of other compulsions, for example, a compulsive gambler, or a compulsive eater. Mine is just to trespass, somewhere. I can afford to live on my own. In fact, I actually have a small studio apartment, and I usually go there in the morning to shower and change my clothes. That sounds strange, I know. Up to a year ago, I had never even heard of a trespassing compulsion, let alone being controlled by it. But then, several associates where I worked bet me that I couldn’t hide in a department store and spend the night there. I took the bet, my $100 versus their $2000. So, I planned my stay quite carefully. I chose Bloomingdales, because the model rooms would be a perfect place to hide. I selected a Thursday evening to begin my stay, since the store closed late and there was less time for me to spend in hiding. Just before closing time, as the sales help was getting ready to leave, when they were all focusing upon themselves and not any customers, I stepped into a large armoire until everyone had left the store. I was alone in Bloomingdales except for the guards and Dobermans. Through some rather circuitous means, I learned the inspection routine of the guards. Interestingly, Dobermans can’t detect a human scent heavily doused with Chanel No 5.” She stopped and laughed slightly. “Remember that the next time you date a Doberman.”
“It was a terrifying experience, but it was also exhilarating. I actually provoked my friends to dare me to do it again, this time for a week. I thought that if they dared me I could believe that what I was doing was normal and that I was merely responding to a dare. Even then, however, I knew that the strange compulsion was overtaking me.The bet was double or nothing. They took the bet and I went back the following night and then the next night, and the night after that. Each night was more exciting than the previous one. It was a wonderful game. For the first time, I could really understand the nature of compulsions. I started spending evening after evening as a trespasser in Bloomingdales.”
“One night, when all of the security guards were on their break, I turned on a fabulous stereo in Bloomies newly created “Spanish Hideaway” room, a section of the store devoted to products from Spain. A slow Spanish waltz came on. I closed my eyes and began to dance. I was immersed in the music. I twirled two or three times. Suddenly I realized that I was not alone. Others, maybe six couples, were dancing next to me. It was an odd and rag-tag group. I was shocked and was tempted to scream, but an older woman, dressed like a flamenco dancer, twirled by put her hands to her lips, smiled and said softly: ‘Shh!”
“Up to that point, I thought I was the only one who had this compulsion. There were others just
“Too many qualifiers, Philip; take out the ‘may.’ Commit to it.”
“Okay, Sophie, no qualifiers. When it comes to you I’m ruled by total emotion and not one scintilla of rational thought at this point. I love you. And it’s been less than 24 hours. Does this make any sense to you?”
“Of course, silly boy. And it’s not crazy. Sometimes you just know. I know.”
“But this living in Bloomingdales, its nuts and it’s dangerous. It makes no sense. I know you’re not crazy, maybe just a little. You canlive with me.” He paused and said surprising himself, “For the rest of your life.”
“I know, but I can’t, not just yet. I have to work it out.”
“Work what out? You’re a homeless person. Just move in with me. No strings.”
“I don’t mind strings if they’re strings that bind us. But, I’m not homeless. I have a home, in Bloomingdales. So, I can’t be homeless. What I am is a trespasser. Worse, I’m a habitual and compulsive trespasser. I know it sounds weird, but think of other compulsions, for example, a compulsive gambler, or a compulsive eater. Mine is just to trespass, somewhere. I can afford to live on my own. In fact, I actually have a small studio apartment, and I usually go there in the morning to shower and change my clothes. That sounds strange, I know. Up to a year ago, I had never even heard of a trespassing compulsion, let alone being controlled by it. But then, several associates where I worked bet me that I couldn’t hide in a department store and spend the night there. I took the bet, my $100 versus their $2000. So, I planned my stay quite carefully. I chose Bloomingdales, because the model rooms would be a perfect place to hide. I selected a Thursday evening to begin my stay, since the store closed late and there was less time for me to spend in hiding. Just before closing time, as the sales help was getting ready to leave, when they were all focusing upon themselves and not any customers, I stepped into a large armoire until everyone had left the store. I was alone in Bloomingdales except for the guards and Dobermans. Through some rather circuitous means, I learned the inspection routine of the guards. Interestingly, Dobermans can’t detect a human scent heavily doused with Chanel No 5.” She stopped and laughed slightly. “Remember that the next time you date a Doberman.”
“It was a terrifying experience, but it was also exhilarating. I actually provoked my friends to dare me to do it again, this time for a week. I thought that if they dared me I could believe that what I was doing was normal and that I was merely responding to a dare. Even then, however, I knew that the strange compulsion was overtaking me.The bet was double or nothing. They took the bet and I went back the following night and then the next night, and the night after that. Each night was more exciting than the previous one. It was a wonderful game. For the first time, I could really understand the nature of compulsions. I started spending evening after evening as a trespasser in Bloomingdales.”
“One night, when all of the security guards were on their break, I turned on a fabulous stereo in Bloomies newly created “Spanish Hideaway” room, a section of the store devoted to products from Spain. A slow Spanish waltz came on. I closed my eyes and began to dance. I was immersed in the music. I twirled two or three times. Suddenly I realized that I was not alone. Others, maybe six couples, were dancing next to me. It was an odd and rag-tag group. I was shocked and was tempted to scream, but an older woman, dressed like a flamenco dancer, twirled by put her hands to her lips, smiled and said softly: ‘Shh!”
“Up to that point, I thought I was the only one who had this compulsion. There were others just
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