Scary Stuff

07.13.06

I don’t know if I should write about the bear, or about losing my cell phone.  They were both pretty scary. 

 

The cell phone thing was patently ridiculous.  I set it down on the counter of the gas station while I paid for my coffee, and left it there while I chased my daughter down and stuffed her mischievous little butt into the car (have I ever mentioned how grateful I am for child-safety-seat laws?  I really ought to thank the government more often than I do).  I swear it was 2 minutes, no more, until I went back for my phone, and it was gone.

 

Where’d it go?  Well, some idiot came along while I was chasing my kid, picked it up, and took it home.  How nice is that?

 

When I eventually gave up searching for the darn thing and used the gas station’s phone to call it, a guy answered.  At this point I had no way to know that he’d answered 5 calls on my phone already, and each time I was asked for – so when I identified myself he was very confused.  I’d even venture to say he was confungled.  I explained very carefully, “You have my phone.”  He didn’t believe me.  I tried again, “I am calling my own cell phone from the gas station phone.  You answered.  Therefore it follows that you have my phone.”

           

“I just went to the gas station for cigarettes a little while ago,” he said.

 

Well, duh.  Yeah, buddy, here’s your sign (okay, I admit I stole that line from comedian Ron White).  But I should hope he wasn’t just out randomly stealing people’s phones for no reason.  Anyway.  “Yes, and while you were at the gas station you picked up my phone and took it away with you.”

 

“No wonder some lady keeps calling and asking for ‘Sheri.’  And I was wondring why there’s a picture of a baby on my phone.”

 

Well, that would be because it’s MY phone.  “I’m at the gas station – can you bring my phone back here?”

 

“I’m home already,” he says, “I’ll give you directions.”

 

Okay, I hate this guy.  He steals MY phone and I have to go fetch it.  Nice.

 

As I follow directions that leave civilization far, far behind, I get a little creeped out and paranoid.  I’m driving out to the middle of nowhere to a stranger’s house.  I want to bang my head against something because I wasn’t bright enough to call my husband from the gas station. Yeah, I suppose I could give myself a sign.  And I have my sweet beautiful funny helpless daughter in the car.  That’s thinking the situation through.  What if the guy is a bad guy?  What if he kidnaps and murders us?

 

When I lost my phone I was on my way home from a family reunion.  And I’d been thinking, like a week ago, that the only reason we needed to have a family reunion was because nobody’s died lately.  Well, I thought now, at least I got to see everybody.  But what a bummer that they’d all  just get home and have to come right back.  Well, not that they would.

 

 I have such bright and happy thoughts, don’t I?  Although I hope you’d never know it to look at me.  Anyway, as I pull up a long driveway into middle of the woods I am really aware how stupid it was to come here with nobody having a clue where I was going.  So I start playing the “if… then…” game.  If it’s a run down shack, then we’ll just leave.  If anything looks sinister or spooky, then we won’t stay.  If I see any cadaver arms hanging out of trunks or any blood dripping from anywhere, we’ll turn the car around and go, never mind the phone.

 

Okay, so maybe this was ridiculous thinking.  I mean, serial killers don’t, I suppose, typically leave body parts laying around in the yard.  But welcome to the inside of my head.

 

It was fine.  Of course it was fine, I’m sitting safe at home writing this, aren’t I?  Even so, it was a bonehead thing to do.  One might win the Darwin Award for such lack of judgment.  On the other hand, I recently finished writing my 2nd novel, my brain is bored, and now I have a really intriguing start to a best-selling thriller, right?

 

Oh dear.  I ran out of room for the bear story.  Well, here’s the run down; me, the dog, the driveway, a very large black bear.  I want to go into the house.  The dog doesn’t.  You can imagine the rest on your own now that I’ve given you a sneak peak into how my brain works.

 

Sometimes scary things are all in your head.  Sometimes they’re eating your garbage.