There's a bloke in my home town who's got on my nerves
so much, I'm starting to question if I'm at fault and even had to ask for advice from mates. I'm going to call him 'West Ham Stan'.
Stan's a socialist poet which is fair enough except he will tell you his opinions on everything whether you want him to or not. He seems to live to correct other people so we're told we can't say this or think that. He's got next to no personal space awareness. He dresses like Harry Enfield's teenager out of the Kev and Perry sketches even though he's in his late 50's. He reckons he's also a DJ. Almost every time he comes to the pier, it's "My wife's Jamaican and I know loads of hard Yardies in London."
The first time I met him, he was asking me if I could get him illegal drugs and was pointing at people I was with telling me to go up and ask them for him with "He deal's don't he?.". "I don't think so but he's sat right there?. Ask him?. I don't use drugs.". This happened a few times with me politely asking him to stop asking me that stuff until it got to the stage where I was starting to wonder if he was a police officer. He kept asking me despite me trying to distance myself from him until I lost my cool with him one night which resulted with a mate taking a pool que off me one night.
Then he started coming down to the tiny ice cream van I was working in. He'd never buy anything, he'd just stand in the doorway asking the young girls working for me nosey questions until he made some comment about one of them. One day, I was taking a lunch break at a table outside the van. He came and sat next to me and leaned forward into my face while I was trying to eat so I said "Do you come down here just to piss me off?.". He got the hint and left.
The next time I saw him, he apologised and we shook hands. Then he started asking me who was dealing cocaine. "Again. I honestly don't know and I wouldn't tell you if I did. Look. I'm standing here with my mates fishing with a can of beer in my hand.".
I voiced my concerns about Stan to my mates. They weren't fond of him either but seemed immune somehow to how annoying this bloke was/is. A couple of weeks ago, he sent me a message asking me if I could meet him on the pier urgently because there was something in it for both him and me. He'd never contacted me before, I assumed he wanted me to film something for him because he does videos of his poetry gigs.
When I got there, he opened up to me that he was suffering badly from depression which I sympathised with but then asked me if I could introduce him to someone who would sell him ecstasy. WTF
...
"I'm sorry you're struggling Stan. Class A drugs are the last thing you need and they'll only make you feel even worse." ... Stan went off and bought some sort of herbal remedy (he told me). The next day, I walked past Stan by chance, he came over and thanked me for caring and helping him the day before and shook my hand.
Then he decided to get paranoid that I was talking about him a couple of days later back on the pier and got in my face in anger until my mates truthfully told him I hadn't been. I found that out yesterday after Stan came up to me again to shake hands (again) but then started to tell everyone what they were and weren't allowed to talk about in life in general.
I don't think Stan's genuinely struggling with depression and I just wish he's stay away from me now because I'm getting close to punching him one day. I've even tried walking away to talk to someone else but he follows me to listen in on what I'm talking about then ask me if I'm talking about him. Sometimes I am now because I'm fed up of him. I can't make up my mind if he's a sociopath, a police informer or just a wanker or any combination of the three.