The Benefits of Being Neurotic

By Dick McCullough

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I recently witnessed a near tragedy. I was eating lunch at a hotel café next to the swimming pool. I was outside enjoying the warm Florida sun, letting my eyes wander over the sea of pale and pudgy tourists who had run aground on lounge chairs like beached seals put up on jacks. One furry, middle-aged man suddenly jumped up, eyes flashing alarm. He started to walk towards the pool, hesitated, jerking puppet-like. His eyes, OD'ing on adrenalin, screamed indecision. From the other side of the pool, a tall young man yelled something and dove in the water, fully clothed. This seemed to shock our intrepid albino into action. He took the two strides necessary to reach his 18 month old daughter who had walked off the swimming pools steps and was submerged about 12 inches below the surface. He reached down and lifted his dripping and frightened child out of the pool and into the safety of a father's arms.

What a moron! Why did he hesitate, doing an interpretive dance of verbal stuttering that would have made Martha Graham proud? Why didn't he, without a moment's pause, scoop his precious child out of harm's way the instant she fell in? Because he's not neurotic, that's why. That dad was too darn well adjusted for his own good. Her misfortune surprised him.

A few years ago (several years ago, to be honest), a similar event happened to my son and me. We were at my sister's house. My son, Paul, was about 2 years old and wading on the front step of the pool. My sister said she'd watch him.

I'm neurotic. I never took my eye off him. The phone rang. Sis walked to the family room to pick it up and with timing the envy of tango dancers, Paul walked off the step into water about 1 foot too deep. I saw him walking towards the edge. I assumed the worst, because we neurotics always assume the worst. Before his head had even gotten wet, I was running to the pool. By the time he went under I was in mid-air. I did a perfect Lloyd Bridges impersonation before he even knew what had happened. Everyone there, and that included my wife, both my parents, my sister, her husband and their three older children were taken by surprise. But not me. I'm neurotic.

Now, I admit that I have fantasized every possible evil that could occur to my children. When they were young, I would crush their little hands whenever we crossed the street, squinty eyes staring hard at every car that dared go near my precious charges. Every stranger that smiled at them as they passed was a pedophile just out on parole. Every chair, every table, every rock a potential murder weapon. I scoured their environment 24/7.

I may have made my own life miserable (not to mention my poor wife's), I may have driven my kids to years of expensive therapy later on, but that one time that bad things really did happen, I was prepared. I am a Boy Scout of anticipated disasters.

My first boss was also a nut case (maybe that's why I like her so much). Everything had to be perfect, and not my version of perfect, but her version of perfect. Each i dotted, each t crossed. It was a personal goal of hers to never review any work of mine without finding something wrong. She brought the same attitude to job reviews. So, although I worked extremely hard and did much better than most humans could ever have managed, I received a mediocre evaluation.

She was absolutely revered by those above her. And why not? Her work (and mine) was outstanding. She made sure of that.

I learned a lot, had a lot of fun, loved her dearly and found another job shortly after my second performance review. I may be crazy but I'm not stupid. I was never going to get a decent raise working for that maniac.

I had an employee a few years ago. She was loony, too. Big as a barn and a devout vegetarian. Not possible? Well, ice cream doesn't have meat in it, does it? Gobbled it by the half gallon. Because she was so driven to do a great job, she drove everyone else absolutely bonkers. If she were in a hurry and someone else was tying up the printer, she'd just turn it off and then on again, thereby dumping all jobs in queue. If she were working on a project and someone wanted to distract her in any way, she would scream at them until they left.

If someone else was working on part of her project, she would do his or her part over late at night. She would check, double check, triple check reports before they were sent out to clients, terrified there might be a typo. In her reports, there were never typos.

Clients loved her. I loved her. But she couldn't take the pressure of living with herself and snapped. I think she's raising cabbages somewhere in Vermont.

Being neurotic is tough. It's not for everybody. If you can stand yourself long enough though, you may not have any friends but you'll be a big success.

And isn't that what it's all about?

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