karma chameleon

In my last post, I made reference to my wife's friend Randi. Remember, she stayed in our apartment when Mrs. Pincus and I were on our honeymoon. She was the first person to see those ominous white postcards from Bloomingdale's-by-Mail that kicked off the twisted tale that I recounted in that particular post. (If you missed it, you can read it here.) Well, let me tell you a little bit about Randi.

Mrs. Pincus met Randi when they were both on staff at a summer camp in the Poconos. They bonded almost instantly and were nearly inseparable that summer. At the end of the eight-week session, they vowed to stay in touch, a promise that would be fairly easy, as Randi lived in Northeast Philadelphia, just a short drive from Mrs. P's suburban home.

I met Randi on the same night I met the future Mrs. Pincus. To be honest, I was initially interested in Randi, especially since my bride-to-be asked if I had an older and taller brother and proclaimed me — and this is a direct quote — "the most obnoxious person she had ever met." But, once the stars aligned and our rightful paths determined, Randi became a constant companion to my wife and me. Whether it was movies, restaurants, concerts or just hanging out, Randi was always there and we all got along great. I soon discovered that Randi and I had a lot in common, as well. Since we both grew up in close-knit, paths-crossing Northeast Philadelphia, we found that we knew a lot of the same people. I remember she liked to keep up with the latest trends in music and clothes, effortlessly sliding from disco to punk, from "Saturday Night Fever" chic to "Ramones" rage.

Randi latched on to Mrs. P and I and exhibited a combination of admiration with a slight edge of jealousy. She wasn't dating anyone steadily. She dated infrequently, as a matter of fact, mostly a series of "one shot" dates. After each night out, she would gush about this one being "the one," and begin making elaborate life-changing plans in her mind — only to be disappointed.  However, Randi never seemed like a "third wheel." We all got along so well and had such a good time together — that thought never crossed our minds. It crossed other people's minds, but never ours.

Randi was the obvious choice for Maid of Honor when Mrs. Pincus and I tied the knot in 1984. She was esteemed and humbled by the honor, but she knew the position was hers as soon the Pincus wedding plans were announced. As expected, Randi attended our wedding as a single. Actually, she only had one "long term" relationship that I recall. No, it didn't end when her on-again-off-again boyfriend got married to someone who wasn't Randi. They continued to date in spite of his marital status. It ended when he committed suicide. Although, Randi was never married to him, she presented herself and behaved as the bereaved widow — in the most flamboyant manner imaginable.

Even after Mrs. Pincus and I married, Randi remained our friend. We went on vacations with her - short romps to nearby Atlantic City and long, planned-out trips to Walt Disney World. When our son was born, Randi was named his godmother and "Aunt Randi" continued to accompany the Pincus's on family trips. After all, she was part of the family. She was included in holiday dinners and celebrations without a second thought. Randi was treated like a second daughter by my in-laws. She also had the same love-hate relationship with my wife's two brothers — as though she was another sister.

After a while, Randi met a guy in an online chat room. She was beside herself. She told us all about her "new love" and how their relationship graduated past the "chat room" and on to real telephone conversations — except... She explained that she had to wait for him to call her. He was divorced, but still lived in his wife's house and she closely monitored the phone. Mrs. P and I exchanged glances during Randi's description and — rightly — surmised that this new guy was married. He eventually came clean, but was, indeed, heading for divorce. He and Randi dated exclusively. Randi was ecstatic about her first, bonafide relationship with the possibility of marriage on the horizon. The new guy was — for lack of a better word — a dimwit. On double dates at a restaurant, we would often catch him staring off into space or contemplating the napkin dispenser like it was a newly-discovered fossil. He rarely contributed anything of substance to a conversation, if he contributed at all. One thing he did do well, was two-time Randi. She would catch him talking to other women regularly. Since he lived in Northern New Jersey, he could easily see other women without Randi finding out — or so he thought in his little pea-sized brain. After a blow-up, he promised to stay loyal to Randi. Once Randi and Mrs. P went away on a "girls' week" in Jamaica. When they returned, Randi's guy was so happy and proud to tell her that he "didn't even see anyone else while she was away." Randi eventually married this guy and that's when things began to head downhill — I think.

You didn't really think
 I'd show her picture,
did you?

Randi had always been a chameleon. She liked to cozy up to people, in hopes they would like her. She would take on their way of speaking and their mannerisms. She would pepper her speech with  expressions she had heard them use. She was like this for as long as I knew her. When she married "her guy," she started hanging out with a group of people who would later reveal themselves to have very outdated views. Randi would parrot their take on minorities — expressing a viewpoint that contradicted her prior feelings. She also became very obsessed with her physical ailments — some real, but mostly imagined. Randi subjected herself to surgeries that we felt were unnecessary, but she insisted were "important and life saving." Randi was becoming something that she never was. We drifted apart, our encounters becoming less frequent until we just never saw Randi anymore. Through social media and mutual acquaintances, we learned that Randi had divorced "her guy" and remarried a retired police officer of questionable background. 

A few years ago, Mrs. P found herself in the emergency room of a local hospital on the same day that her mother was also an emergency patient. I scuttled between the two curtained areas, offering doctor's updates to the familial occupants of each. When I returned to my wife, she was talking to a wizened, tired-looking woman who I did not recognize. I sat quietly in a chair as they continued their conversation. A few familiar things in their exchange jumped out at me. Suddenly, it hit me. This unrecognizable woman was Randi. I looked at her and she bore absolutely no resemblance to the Randi I once knew. And — me being Mr. Subtle — I told her so. Mrs. P was soon discharged from the hospital and we left Randi in our wake.

Recently, we learned through the grapevine, that Randi had moved to Florida. A quick Google search led us to her presence on Twitter*. It appears that Randi — with her inexplicable 12,000 followers — has, once again, reinvented herself — this time, as a hate-filled, conspiracy-theory spouting, QAnon-supporting, fear-mongering, proud and outspoken extreme right-wing racist. A further search revealed a disturbing mug shot from a 2018 booking for charges described as "aggravated assault with a deadly weapon without intent to kill."

Boy... the lengths some people will go to just to be liked.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

*As of this posting and in light of the events in Washington, DC this past week, Randi has deleted her social media presence.