My friend, Erin, recently reminded me of a slightly scary and utterly bizarre moment that we shared years ago when I was on tour for my book “Storworthy: Engage, Teach, Persuade, and Change Your Life Through the Power of Storytelling.”
I was speaking at the New York City Public Library, and I had asked Erin, a fantastic storyteller and CEO of The Story Collider, to interview me. The room was filled to capacity, and additional seating was being made available in the area just outside the room, where our talk would be broadcast live.
Elysha, my in-laws, and the kids were present, sitting in the front row. We were a minute or two away from starting when a woman entered the room, could not find a seat, and refused to leave. She approached me, insisting that she be allowed to remain in the room, explaining that she had registered for the event and needed to hear me speak in hopes of changing her life.
I directed her to the librarian, who kindly informed her that registering for the event did not guarantee a seat in the main room, but seating was still available in the alternate space.
She refused to leave and rapidly became irate. In seconds, it became clear that she was not an entirely rational person. I quickly made eye contact with Elysha, sending the message, “Watch the kids. This lady is not right.”
Try as she might, the librarian could not get this woman to budge. I told her that I’d be more than happy to meet with her after the talk and answer a few questions, but she held her ground. She wanted a seat, damn it, and she wasn’t going to move until she got one. Audience members began to become aware of the situation and shifted uncomfortably in their seats.
Part of me thought, “Give the lady a seat. I know the room has a designated capacity, but I don’t think one extra person will doom us all in the highly unlikely event there is a fire in the NYC library.”
But another, perhaps larger part of me thought, “If you’re not early, you’re late, lady. If this was so important to you. you should’ve been here ten minutes ago when seats were still available. Stop violating the social contract and making us all uneasy.”
About ten minutes later, two police officers arrived and attempted to coax the woman from the room.
Still, she refused.
Then one police officer said, “Listen, this isn’t the place to sort this out. The show won’t start until you’re happy, but let’s just step over here to talk privately.”
The police officer motioned to a side door. The woman paused for a moment, staring at the door and then back at me as if to say, “You heard him. Don’t you dare start until I get back.” Then she followed the officer through the side door.
The second officer stopped at the door, leaned in, and whispered, “Okay, you can get started now.” Then he exited the room, closing the door behind him.
I have no idea what happened behind that door. Maybe the police officers and the woman engaged in a polite and reasonable discourse, which resulted in her leaving of her own accord.
Or maybe handcuffs were instantly applied, and she was forcefully removed.
I have no idea. I never saw the woman again.
It was a crazy moment created by a woman who was tragically desperate and clearly unhinged, at least at that particular moment.
But I learned an important lesson that I still use to this day:
When dealing with an irrational person, there is no point in dealing honestly with that person. No reason to be logical or honest or consistent in any way.
When dealing with an irrational person, say whatever needs to be said to safely remove the person from the space or get the person to cease their irrational and possibly dangerous behavior.
No space exists for an honest broker in situations like that. Instead, be a dishonest, manipulative, deceptive monster if necessary. When de-escalating an irrational person, the ends justify the means.
This strategy has mainly been deployed when dealing with students who have become irrational for a variety of reasons, though I have also used it twice on adults in storytelling workshops who are not okay and once with an adult at Target.
When it comes to students, they tend to be younger than the fifth graders who I teach, though even a fifth grade can lose their mind for a moment.
In all of these cases, I simply find the thing the person wants to hear in order to move them into a safe place or a more rational state of being.
A lesson learned from New York City’s finest.
