It’s Not The 1960’s Anymore, You Idiot

Posted: June 9, 2015 in Amazing and Interesting Stories, Humor, Kids
Tags: ,

And the idiot I speak of is myself.

You see, some things that you could get away with in the past simply won’t fly kids_runningtoday and I tend to forget that. For instance, consider what happened to me last summer . . .

You see, I’d spent a week down at Oak Island in North Carolina and was traveling north up the coast to the Outer Banks, about a 5 1/2 hour drive. Folks find it hard to believe it’s that far but they don’t realize that the Outer Banks is way out there. In fact, if you’re in the Outer Banks and want to travel to Oak Island, Myrtle Beach or any points south you have to travel 100-miles directly west before you can even turn south. But once again I’ve digressed . . .

As I am prone to do I decided to take the small, 2-lane roads up the coast on this trip, getting a taste of small town ‘Merica if you will. At one point I got lost, and since my cell phone service was kaput I had no GPS to rely on.

Omigod! What to do? God knows I didn’t have a map in the glove compartment like we all did back in the old days. I was flummoxed.

Just as I began looking for a gas station to ask for directions, I saw 3 little kids, probably 9-10 years old, walking down the sidewalk of the little coastal town I was cruising through.

Perfect! Here was my ticket to getting back on track! Relieved, I pulled over slowly to the curb and the following conversation, or lack thereof, transpired:

“Hey guys, can you tell me how to get back over to 210?”

Except I only got to “Hey guys . . .” when the kids stopped, looked at me with horrified expressions, then proceeded to run for their freaking lives, screaming like banshees all the while.

Ah, shit.

One of the kids may or may not have yelled out “Stranger danger! STRANGER DANGER!” as well, but it’s possible that may have only taken place in my imagination.

For a second I just sat there, dumbfounded. But then, as the kids rounded a corner, presumably to alert their parents, the authorities, the FBI, and/or Chuck Norris, I had a grim realization . . .

I had to get the hell out of there.

And I did, at a legal pace, as not to give an assumption of guilt. But damn, was I terrified.

I swear that for, oh, maybe 100-miles I kept checking my rearview mirror for the po-po, expecting them to come roaring up behind me, sirens blaring, pulling me over, jerking me out of the car and throwing me to the ground face-down, treating me like the pervert they believed me to be.

And later when I was alone in my hotel room, I sat on the edge of the bed watching the news, half-expecting to see an artist’s rendering of a bald, wild-eyed sex-crazed child molester who looked exactly like me.

Then, as I was attempting to fall asleep, I had visions of the cops showing up at reception with that drawing, asking if anybody had seen this monster.

Alas, nothing. After a fitful night of sleeping I awoke early, crept out amidst the cover of darkness, and made my way north, freezing in fear the couple of times a state trooper came up behind me.

Luckily, I arrived at my destination safely and undetained by law enforcement. Still, the incident served as a wake-up call for me.

Lesson learned.

It’s not the 60’s anymore, you idiot.

1

Not me.

 

 

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