Pet Peeves of the Day: Urban Legends and Stupid People

Although the title of this post may lead you to believe otherwise, today was a lot better than yesterday. I have gotten over my runner rage and have come to feel at peace with Bud and his horn-honking ways. Life is too short to dwell on rednecks in oversized vehicles who get off on honking at late twenty-something female runners. See? Totally over it.

I opened my day with an amusing visit from one of my all-time favorite students. We will call him Dwight. Dwight comes to see me twice a day EVERY DAY. The first visit I get is usually before I have even turned on my computer or broken my ritual "no talking code" that I have every morning. Since I am not a morning person, I do not give anyone (including my husband) more than a grunt until I have checked my email. Dwight never fails to pop in at about 7:31 three times a week to stay Hi and start chatting about whatever is on his mind. He is so friggin' chipper in the morning- probably because he's been up since 4 am playing Call of Duty with 20 something pot smokers in California- and never ceases to put me in a good mood by the time he has left my office. On this particular morning, Dwight did not disappoint. As I was staring dumbly into my blank computer screen trying to decide between passing out for a quick ten minute snooze before the bell for first period rang or to go ahead and reply to ANOTHER parent email regarding scheduling, Dwight be-bopped his way into my office and announced, "Good morning! You know what today is, right?" To which I croaked, "Tuesday?" to which he replied, "Yes, and it's 4/20. I just might know a few people participating in what this day is known for." I did not know how to reply to this. On one hand I wanted to say "Are you partaking in the dastardly acts that have made today famous and, if so, PLEASE don't do it in school and get expelled" while on the other hand I just wanted to ignore the comment altogether so I wouldn't have to be questioned should this particular student be caught in a compromising position later that day. Instead, I just laughed it off, said "I don't know what you're talking about" and asked him about how the world is going to end which is one of his favorite topics. Pretty soon, he was bouncing out of my office muttering about zombies and the Mayan calendar, happily making his way towards all of the magical things that this day had to bring. Those magical things probably will involve a bag of Fritos and Taco Bell at some point if you know what I mean. Totally kidding- Dwight is not your 4/20 sort of kid, but I am not too sure about those Call of Duty characters he refers to as "friends."

When I finally got around to checking my email, I see that there is one in my inbox from my mother. The subject line reads "Rapists." Just the way I wanted to start my Tuesday morning. My mom is NOTORIOUS for sending me all sorts of email forwards regarding just how I could be raped, murdered, accosted, car-jacked, hi-jacked, low-jakcked, whacked off, or chloroformed. Last month I received a warning never to remove any flyers off my back window for fear that when I get out of the car to remove said flyer, a car-jacker will jump out from underneath my car, put it in reverse, run me over, pull over to gather up my lifeless body, and drive off in the hopes that he can score some ransom money along with the new car he just stole. Joke's on you, car-jacking kidnapper: that "new" car has almost 200,000 miles on it and no one that I know has enough money to want my ass back. Two months before that, my mother forwarded me something about old ladies in Wal-Mart parking lots trying to make you test perfume samples. If you are dumb enough to allow them to spray you, you will realize hours later that it was chloroform and you have been thrown in a trunk with your kidnapper's knitting needles and a lifetime supply of mothballs. I mean, come on, why is it OLD LADIES giving out these samples? Where do they find the superhuman strength to TOSS YOU IN A TRUNK? I find the forwards partly amusing, but just scary enough that I end up buckling and sending them to all of my co-workers. The one that creeped me out the most? The one that I received (from mom, of course) around Christmas time that read that a young woman who lived by herself kept hearing a baby cry outside her door. Because so many people leave their babies abandoned Moses-style on doorsteps anymore, she opened the door only to be assaulted by someone with a boom box. You know, to play the fake baby cries. There are so many things fundamentally wrong with this scenario that I can't even begin to name them. First of all, who actually believes that a baby has been left on your doorstep? Second of all, who has the time to perform these capers? If the job description of "serial killer or rapist" leaves you with all this free time to think these things out, then sign me up!

Today's particular forward was a new one. It was a "firsthand" account from a woman who is apparently a prison guard somewhere in Louisiana. She said that this experience happened to her a few days prior and she "didn't think much of it" until she recounted the story to her "prison guard friends" and they made her talk to the police. Let me preface her story by saying that there just happens to be a wild serial killer on the loose in Louisiana at this time. She claims that she was at the gas station and put $10 worth of gas in her tank (which will take her a mere two blocks these days) and wanted to buy herself a Coke. She went into the gas station to pay in cash and knew that she had two fives and a one on her. She paid for her gas, gathered her Coke, and got back in her car. As she was buckling her belt, a clean-shaven, nice-looking gentleman tapped on her window. Because she "works in a prison" she knew better than to roll down her window and yelled through the glass, "What do you want?" The man held up a five dollar bill, smiled, and said, "You dropped this." Now, this woman was smart and knew that she had taken only enough money in to the gas station to pay her bill so she said, "Nope, that's not mine." Upon hearing this, she claims that the man "went nuts'" and started beating on her window and door trying to get in the car. She claims that she sped off as fast as she could and "didn't think to go to the police" until she told her story to some friends and they made her. This gave the Louisiana police valuable insight into catching their serial killer. Here is my beef with her story:

1. Who pays with cash at the gas station anymore? I know that this is not a stretch, but even when I want a coke I pay with plastic

2. If there was a serial killer on the loose, why would you even bother seeing what some strange man wanted? Unless you're that hard up for a man, IGNORE, IGNORE, IGNORE

3. This guy went crazy on her and after it happened she was like, "No big deal" and didn't think to go to the police? Are prison guards really that jaded? I would have been crying, calling the police, and then calling my mother and thanking her profusely for sending every crazy-ass forward she's ever sent me. Then I would probably lock myself in my house, buy some cats, and never come out again

After I read this forward, I deleted it. I refuse to perpetuate the legends that are floating around cyberspace. Besides, that serial killer was in Louisiana. That's a long way from here. I'll just say this- if you have read this post, women of America, consider yourself warned.

After that interesting bit of reading, my day carried on without much to talk about. We had our yearly Guidance calendar meeting (which lasted 5 HOURS) which left little time for much else at school. When I got home, I curled up with my book and my dogs until it was time to meet Becky for our walk. I love my afternoon walks/runs/gym sessions with Becky. It's the one chance that I get to spew profanities and complain about everything that bothered me that day to a completely sympathetic audience. As we were rounding out our walk and complaining about everything and nothing at all, a lady pulled into a parking space by the bike path. In a very heavy accent (and an Illinois license plate tacked to the front of her Astro van), she yelled, "Excuse me ma'ams? (again with the ma'am!!) Can you tell me where is Cline Avenue?" To which Becky replied politely "It's right down from here. You take this road in front of us (which was Ridge) left and you will run into it" to which the lady looked blankly at her and said, "Huh?" to which Becky said "This road in front of us? See? Take it until you see Cline." The lady then said "I try to find Cline 912. Address 912 Cline." Becky just looked at her and said, "I can't help you with the address but I can tell you how to get to Cline" and then relayed the directions AGAIN. The lady still looked at us like we didn't know how many beans were in a burrito, so I finally said "Just take this road down about two miles and you will see Cline. There are three gas stations at that intersection. Stop and ask them which way to go." The lady still looked unsure and we weren't sure what else to say. So then she all but ROLLED HER EYES at US, got in her car, and left. Becky and I pretended to try to carry on our conversation but it wasn't long before Becky said, "Um, sorry I'm not your own personal Mapquest and can't pinpoint the f-ing location you're trying to find." Word up, Bex. Some people just don't have common sense. Now there was an obvious language barrier between us and Ms. 912 Cline Avenue but she really looked at us like WE were the stupid ones. As we were talking to her, all I kept thinking was "Does she want us to come closer so her mariachi band can jump out from behind those tinted van windows, grab us, and take us to her abuelo of misfortune?" I can thank my mom for the mounting paranoia.

So that was my day. The lesson I have learned is to take anything my mom sends over email with a grain of salt. If anyone would like to be a recipient of her scarier-than-needed forwards, kindly forward me your email address and I will make sure that you are put on her distribution list. Until then, please don't open your doors to crying babies, sniff anything in a Wal-Mart parking lot, or grab those 1/2 price stripper fliers off of your rear windows. All of these things could get you more than you bargained for.