Lesson#2 For Me: City People Don’t Know When They’re Being Creepy.
This is an ongoing lesson I’m continually being taught. They don’t know. They might even mean well. City people just can’t help acting out scenes with you from a 1990′s after school special, and setting off all kinds of alarm bells in former suburban girls.
Case In Point:
I was at the park down the street this past weekend with the goose dog. The park is a beautiful 200 acre historic site full of ball fields, open space, a 1700′s mansion, and weekend crowds of inter-mural sports teams and pee-wee football players. It’s bright and lush, the pup loves to romp there, and I like the history behind the place – and visiting it with a 65 pound dog.
This particular day I arrived with my dog, unloaded him and slipped on the leash. We took a nice brisk walk around the perimeter of the park’s main double wide road because the grass was pretty tall, and soaked with rain water. It was a sunny 9am when we made it half of the way around the park’s main road, and we were back to the area within close visual range of a very large group of Pee-wee football players on the lawn.
I hear this behind me. “Vroooooom. Squeeeeeeeak.”
“Vroooooom. Squeeeeeak.” It’s right behind me. I keep walking thinking the car should get it’s breaks checked.
“Vrooooom. Squeak.” I’m on the left side of the road, and there is plenty of room for cars to pass on the right side of the road, or middle of the street. Whatever it is is literally right behind me, all the way on the left, and way inside my ‘pedestrian personal space zone.’ I catch a glimpse out of the corner of my eye of a van behind me.
“Vroooooom.” When I take a few steps the van waits, then rolls forward to regain that ground.
“Squeeeak.” It’s still behind me. Very close. I’ve now made it walking on the shoulder for another 1/4 of the way around the park. The van then kills the engine, and continues to follow me more – on the left shoulder! All I hear now is the squeak every 7 steps.
This has now gone on for a full 5 minutes, which is 4.40 minutes longer than I’m comfortable with.
I hear the crunching of pebbles under a tire, then “Squeeeeak.” I glance back. It’s a white van with dark windows on the side. A kidnapper van.
I move the dog several feet into the grass, and feign interest in the patch of wet grass he’s now sniffing.
I’m concerned, but I’m going to meet it head on. I looked directly at the driver’s window as it passes next to me, poised to move very quickly into the line of scrimmage if need be of the pee-wee game – which is 50 yards away. Through the two un-tinted window of the front seat of the van I see a truckload of city mammas leaning all over each other, craning their necks to see the football game – looking for their kids! And no where near where the rest of the parents have been parking.
They suddenly hit the gas, veer off, and drive away.
A Memo To My Ladies:
City Ladies! Please park your car when you are looking for friends or loved ones, and actually get out of it! Creating a ‘mock-umentary’ of a hit-n-run, or a missing persons case is not an activity I’m up for that early on a Saturday! Drive on the right side of the road, and wherever possible please avoid killing your engine and following people around in public places. It’s creepy. Especially in white vans! Who doesn’t know this?
You see? They don’t know. It’s not even in the vocabulary.