Mr. Monk and the Detective

Here is the thing about brilliant detectives. They're all nuts. Take Nero Wolfe, for instance.

He was this enormously fat detective who would not leave his normal New York brownstone. He stayed inside the house tending his plants, drinking ridiculously five quarts of beer a day, and eating large gourmet meals prepared by his live-in chef. So he hired Archie Goodwin to screen clients, chase down clues, and drag people back to the brownstone to be rudely interrogated.

Then there's Sherlock Holmes, an eccentric, surprisingly annoying, wound-up cocaine addict who plays his violin and conducts chemical experiments in his living room whose test subject is pitiful dog, Gladstone. If it weren't for Dr. Watson, "Sherlie" a.k.a. Sherlock would have been committed.

At least I did not live with Adrian Monk, another brilliant detective, the way Archie and Dr. Watson did with their employers, but I'd still argue that my job was a lot harder for me than it was for them. For one thing, I did not have any of their qualifications. My name is Natalie Teeger. I've had a lot of odd jobs, but I'm not an Ex-FBI agent or even a criminologist, one of which I'd be if this was a book instead of my life.

I was bartending before I met Monk. If had researched before working for Monk, I might not taken the job. I know what you're thinking. Nero Wolfe and Sherlock Holmes are fictional characters, so what could I even learn from their assistants? Nothing, I tell you nothing. But there is is one thing that I learned from them: What makes your boss a genius at solving murders is going to make life impossible around him, especially you.

That is especially true with Adrian Monk, who has a smorgasbord of obsessive-compulsive disorders.You can't truly grasp the magnitude of his anxieties and phobias unless you experience them every single day like, God help me, I did.

He has a thing about germs, everything in his life has to be in order, and following only arcane rules that only make sense to Monk. For instance, I've seen him at breakfast remove every bran flake and raisin from a bowl of Kellogg's Raisin Bran and count them to be sure there is a four-flake-to-one-raisin ratio in his bowl before he starts eating. How did he determine that anything else "violated the natural laws of the universe?' I don't know. I don't want to know.

Monk brings his own silverware and dishes to restaurants. He takes a folding lawn chair with him to the movies because he can't bear the thought of sitting in a seat a thousand other people have sat in. I could go on, but I think you get the picture.

Dealing with all his quirks and acting as the middleman between him and the civilized world was very stressful stuff. It was wearing me down to total exhaustion. I needed something.