I'm sorry its been so long since I blogged last, much too long in my opinion. My apologies, but my last month or so has been a constant state of havoc (Future blogging material? I think so.) therefore, I have a) not had the time and b) there were no creative juices flowing. Plus, I've been sleeping a lot so that pretty much takes up my extra time that could and should be spent writing. I'm sorry for being a selfish cow.
My story for you today goes back about a year ago, when I was going to school on a tropical island. That was kind of an amazing sentence, and makes me hate my life all the more as I experience the dreadful time of mourning others refer to as "winter". I'm sorry I'm in such a pissy mood right now, but seeing as I haven't eaten lunch yet...well that is pretty self explanatory. I've been apologizing a lot already in this post and promise to not be such a downer for the remainder. You're welcome.
So anyways, I was walking through the target parking lot holding my friends new humidifier, when this guy almost hit me with his crappy car and it sent me having flashbacks to the story I am about to tell you. My friend said, "Have you blogged about that one yet?" And I couldn't believe I hadn't! So here it is. I was working weekends at this mom-and-pop Italian restaurant, struggling financially as most all college students do. But I loved working there and did so happily, although my homework may have suffered for it. Actually, that's a lie, the real reason it suffered was because I was going to school ON A TROPICAL ISLAND. People don't actually do school in places like that unless they are idiots, because who wants to write a ten page comparison paper on religion when you could be hiking through the rain forest or basking on a beach with hot guys that only come from tropical islands?! I'll admit, I did much less schlepping around mountains being active and crap, and much more of the latter, but a lot of people enjoy that stuff. Anyone would compared to writing a shitty paper, unless they were an idiot.
I bought this white ancient crown vic from my mechanic, suntanned, surfer, body-of-a-god guy that I was...seeing while I was there. I guess I can't really call him my boyfriend, because he never asked me and, well, he wasn't my boyfriend. But we were going on dates and practically dating. The only screwing that happened between us was when he sold me that crappy car that broke down two weeks later, and he couldn't ever seem to repair after that. Everyone wanted to be my friend for those two weeks; girls because they wanted a ride, and guys because they wanted to borrow it to use for a cop car in their amateur film about skateboarding, that needed a cop car for whatever reason. None of them liked me as much two weeks later when it broke down and I needed a ride to work. They wouldn't give me one. Douches.
One crisp island evening, I walked back to school from work, alone. I had worked the late shift at the restaurant and my so called loser friends that had cars wouldn't come help me out. It was maybe a seven minute drive, but it took anywhere from 30 minutes to an hour depending on the weather, shoes you were wearing, etc. but always took longer on the way back because it was mostly up hill, and those hills were not playing around. Those hills gave birth to the hills from "The Sound of Music", if that helps you get a feel for how big they were. That's what he said.
I closed out my cash drawer, went to the ladies room to change into clothes more appropriate for the journey I was about to embark on, and saying my goodbyes to co-workers (all hung-over), stepped out into the night. It was a typical evening, desperately warm and humid, frizzing out my curly hair around my face and at the base of my neck and my face perspiring profusely, but there was delightful ocean breeze coming from the west, tugging at my clothes and bringing occasional gentle relief from the aching heat. I didn't feel relieved however, because the anxiety I had been ignoring until then had come back with a vengeance, and standing on the cracked side walk I was faced with the darkness.
So what did I do? I put my head phones in and put on a chipper song by Colbie Caillat to distract me from the fact that I was walking, alone, through the ghetto of the town...did I mention I was alone and it was really really dark outside?! La La La, happy thoughts.
I was skipping along, trying to focus on my music about rainbows and ponies, all the while keeping to the most populated and well lit streets. I was in the middle of "Fallin' for You", when I stopped at a cross walk to check that it was safe to go. There was a little white car there, stopped because there was a huge onslaught of traffic coming and the car couldn't turn yet. With it obviously being my turn to go, I started to cross. About halfway through the cross walk, I shifted my backpack to the other shoulder and turned the volume up on my ipod. La La La, happy thoughts. With the other side within my reach, my thoughts came to a screeching halt as the little white innocent car bumped me! Dazed and afraid and having absolutely no idea what was happening, I turned to face the car (that was still accelerating toward me) and screamed, "Stop! Stoppppp!!!!!!" with both of my hands on the front of the grimy hood of the car, trying with all my might to stop the vehicle that was slowly but surely pushing me into the oncoming traffic. Just as I was about to meet the traffic the car stopped, with me partially on top of it, breathing fast and close to dying prematurely of a heart attack. I looked up to face my attacker for the first time. Middle aged, snaggle toothed, and (not to fuel stereotypes, it's just the truth in this particular situation) Asian. And laughing hysterically. BASTARD!!!!!! I was even more shocked at the site of the man laughing then the fact that two seconds earlier I had been hit by a car. My paralysis suddenly vanished and half jumping, half falling off the car full of crazy, I bolted down out of the street and onto the sidewalk, still being affronted by the sound of flowers being thrown up in my ears.
I took a brief break from running to look back (I hadn't gotten very far), and the little white car was still idling there, a small dark form rocking back and forth from laughter. I started running again, at the speed of light. La La La, happy thoughts, happ-oh eff it! Not happy thoughts, Not happy thoughts!!! I'm going to die!
When the dog bites, when the bee stings. What about when the frickin car hits you in the frickin middle of nowhere and your frickin going to die at the hands of a baneful Asian?! What do you have to say to that Julie Andrews?! Simply remember my favorite things? How predictable of you.
I ran for what felt like an eternity, and when I couldn't run anymore because I was grossly out of shape, I walked brusquely, panting and looking around accusingly. The long dark walk home was terrifying, with shady miscreants milling about the streets in the darkest corners just to further provoke my fear and impending doom. I made it home alright, although I was in a terrible mental state. The next day, although still stirred up, I kept the story to myself humbly and tried to go about my day. That is, until I saw a little white car parked on campus and the perpetrator tried to stab me!
Gotcha suckers! There was no more grief after the first incident thankfully. And I didn't keep the story to myself the next day; you'd better believe I gave my most theatrical retelling of the story to everyone, but specifically those that refused me a ride home and left me to my fate. They felt horrible and promised if I ever needed a ride again to let them know. They weren't nearly as repentant as I wanted, but it had the effect I was looking for. My title about dieing may have been a tad bit strong, but the moral behind the story is this: don't be a bunch of skanks and refuse others in times of need. Instead, lend a helping hand when you're able. And also, don't walk alone at night without some mace and reflectors on your clothes. Cheers to you all!