Some days I feel completely demoralized. Doubts creep up on me and everything I do becomes a metaphor, a symbol, any reason not to go on my new path or to question my new path (for non-depressing reading, skip to the below meme)
Questioning my path is good. I reevaluate and reexamine in different lights and as a result gain new perspectives. That is good. It's bad when these thoughts are crippling. Today I was going to write about these doubts, my fears and the crippling anxiety. But I'm not going to.
The one thing that keeps me going and strengthens my resolve is laughing at the ridiculousness of my previous adventures or just laughing about life itself. Life is great and it must be enjoyed at its fullest. I will bask in the glory of having lived adventurously...and in the silliness of enjoying the simple and random, like the picture below.
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| Random, unrelated meme I chose only because it made me laugh |
My first pre-adventure
Let's tie what has been written so far to the title; "Hey Kid, You Running Away?"
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| The old guy was less cool and more creepy than this old gangsta |
How did I get to telling him things you might ask. Well quite honestly (and I hate to admit it) he skillfully employed player tactics to get me to reluctantly talk to him like a stuck up hot girl at a bar reluctantly talks to the persistent d-bag in the bar. I hated every moment but could not shake him off! To all those girls out there I ever forcefully entered a conversation with, I sincerely apologize.
It all started with the bad decision to sit a few seats over from an old lady and her 10 shopping bags.
That was my first mistake. Never sit next to or close to people with groceries! Only crackheads and the homeless buy groceries in one city before boarding a greyhound bus to transport "groceries" to the next city. Dig in through the grocery bags (I don't recommend it, they'll stab you with a needle if you do) and you'll find meth and weed beneath the lettuce leafs suspiciously placed over the other items.
The 10 shopping bags turned out to belong to an old lady and her older male friend. At a glance they seemed like an ordinary, lower middle class couple. It wasn't until the old man approached me that I noticed that under the hoodie his matted hair and dark eye circles gave him the appearance of a runaway serial killer. He asked me if I could keep an eye out on their precious cargo while he and, in his own words, "new lady friend" grabbed a cup of coffee from the small greyhound store 10 feet away. I told him that was fine but that I might have to leave soon.
When they came back 10 mins later, the man extended a smelly hand to thank me. I knew something was wrong. No, it wasn't that each finger had a different tatto on it or that he approached me angling his body sideways. If I had to take a wild guess it was the mischievous look in his eyes, his invasion of my personal space and his deep, low almost whispering voice.
I tried shrugging him away after I reluctantly shook his dirty hand. Shaking his hand was the hardest thing I had done in months. I had no purel hand sanitizer on hand and I wanted to eat my chips. What kept me from not shaking his hand was the fear of a bloody needle piercing my neck in a split instant.
He asked my name to which I gave the fastest bogus name I could come up with: Derrick Erickson. He then asked me where I was going. Half scared to death, but still keeping my wits with me, I replied with an answer: "where are you going?". If he said Nashville I was cancelling my ticket. Luckily he said Cincinnati. "Phew! That was a close one!" I thought to myself. I was only half right.
The guy proceeded to ask me where I lived. I bluntly asked him why he wanted to know. He avoided the question by asking me if I was looking for a job to which I replied no. My answer went over his head as he asked if I could make a side-trip to Cincinnati to interview with him and his arthritis gang for a job. Cincinnati was east and I was heading south so a little out of my way. He then asked if I could see him at his hotel at a sketchy part of town, offering me the offer of a lifetime to do anything I wished to do. Again I had to refuse.
You may be asking, how did I escape? Easily. Old man and lady lover (who by the way had dried up blood on her nose) were going to white castle for a late night snack. When I politely refused to go with them they asked if I could keep an eye out on their groceries. This time I happily obliged. Anything to make them leave! When they were gone, I snuck off to the opposite end of the building and sat behind a pillar. I still texted a friend all the physical descriptors I could of the duo. They could always come back...
My adventure to Nashville and back was pretty cool. Too many stories to share in one blog post, but one quick one to share is the moment I realized the source of the poop smell in the bus. The source was in fact a used diaper, wait for it, UNDER MY SEAT!! Not about to reach for it, I closed my eyes and tried to sleep.
That was my first mistake. Never sit next to or close to people with groceries! Only crackheads and the homeless buy groceries in one city before boarding a greyhound bus to transport "groceries" to the next city. Dig in through the grocery bags (I don't recommend it, they'll stab you with a needle if you do) and you'll find meth and weed beneath the lettuce leafs suspiciously placed over the other items.
The 10 shopping bags turned out to belong to an old lady and her older male friend. At a glance they seemed like an ordinary, lower middle class couple. It wasn't until the old man approached me that I noticed that under the hoodie his matted hair and dark eye circles gave him the appearance of a runaway serial killer. He asked me if I could keep an eye out on their precious cargo while he and, in his own words, "new lady friend" grabbed a cup of coffee from the small greyhound store 10 feet away. I told him that was fine but that I might have to leave soon.
When they came back 10 mins later, the man extended a smelly hand to thank me. I knew something was wrong. No, it wasn't that each finger had a different tatto on it or that he approached me angling his body sideways. If I had to take a wild guess it was the mischievous look in his eyes, his invasion of my personal space and his deep, low almost whispering voice.
I tried shrugging him away after I reluctantly shook his dirty hand. Shaking his hand was the hardest thing I had done in months. I had no purel hand sanitizer on hand and I wanted to eat my chips. What kept me from not shaking his hand was the fear of a bloody needle piercing my neck in a split instant.
He asked my name to which I gave the fastest bogus name I could come up with: Derrick Erickson. He then asked me where I was going. Half scared to death, but still keeping my wits with me, I replied with an answer: "where are you going?". If he said Nashville I was cancelling my ticket. Luckily he said Cincinnati. "Phew! That was a close one!" I thought to myself. I was only half right.
The guy proceeded to ask me where I lived. I bluntly asked him why he wanted to know. He avoided the question by asking me if I was looking for a job to which I replied no. My answer went over his head as he asked if I could make a side-trip to Cincinnati to interview with him and his arthritis gang for a job. Cincinnati was east and I was heading south so a little out of my way. He then asked if I could see him at his hotel at a sketchy part of town, offering me the offer of a lifetime to do anything I wished to do. Again I had to refuse.
You may be asking, how did I escape? Easily. Old man and lady lover (who by the way had dried up blood on her nose) were going to white castle for a late night snack. When I politely refused to go with them they asked if I could keep an eye out on their groceries. This time I happily obliged. Anything to make them leave! When they were gone, I snuck off to the opposite end of the building and sat behind a pillar. I still texted a friend all the physical descriptors I could of the duo. They could always come back...
My adventure to Nashville and back was pretty cool. Too many stories to share in one blog post, but one quick one to share is the moment I realized the source of the poop smell in the bus. The source was in fact a used diaper, wait for it, UNDER MY SEAT!! Not about to reach for it, I closed my eyes and tried to sleep.
Sometimes the scariest people are poor people that have nothing but purely good motives. Last weekend, I walked by a group of homeless people hanging out. Their fashion style and the way they carried themselves was original, which would have made anyone feel slightly on the fritz. However, sometimes their digging questions or approaches are too creepy.
ReplyDeleteHi,
DeleteThanks for commenting and bringing up a good point. Judging people by their looks is never a precise indicator of who they really are. I try to avoid doing so, but as you point out, the approach and questions in some instances are too creepy to allow for a normal conversation. If the old man had not insisted on getting me a job I might have been less reluctant to talk to him!