On Facebook, someone asked me to do a weekly story from my life. Not a boring story or stupid one, but one of the fantastic tales of misshappery that seem to always happen to certain individuals in life, myself included. I thought you guys might enjoy these too, so I’m repeating them here. Here is the third:
I have the amazing ability to get lost anywhere. My hometown, my neighborhood—hell, I can probably get lost in my own house. A few years ago, I got lost in my small, 3.8 square mile town, 1 square mile of which is water.
It was a Thursday afternoon and I had come home early from work so Hubby and I could go to a matinee. Before going to the movie, however, I needed to drop off the water bill at City Hall.
City Hall, a place I had visited monthly for about 5 years, or, 60 times, not to mention driving by it almost weekly. City Hall, a large building that is on the same avenue as my house, just 11 blocks to the south.
City Hall, a place I could not find on this particular Thursday afternoon because apparently, I’d entered the frickin’ Twilight Zone. For some reason, I ended up taking a wrong turn somewhere in the 11 blocks between my house and City Hall. And, since I have driving anxieties, I was getting anxious about not knowing where I was, which was making it even more difficult to figure out how to get myself where I needed to be.
As I was driving and trying to think of a way to get myself back to City Hall, I saw a little Dachshund running around in the road. He was running to, sprinting fro, and had no rhyme, reason or sense about his movements.
I slowed my car and brought it to the shoulder of the road and he came running toward my vehicle. I opened the door and stepped out, and this little sausage dog jumped right in and sat on the front seat. I figured the dog’s owner must have a car similar to mine, and left him there since he was safer in the car than he would be in the road. I shut the door and began to canvas the neighborhood to see where he belonged.
I knocked on about eight doors and either got no answer or a person who had never seen a dog meeting his description. I decided to go back to my car, look at the dog’s tags, and start making some calls.
I walked back to the car and opened the door and instead of being given a hero’s welcome, a tiny, sausage-shaped version of Cujo lunged at me, barking, snarling, drooling foamy anger snot, and refusing to allow me entrance into my own vehicle. I pushed the door shut a bit more, to defend myself from my canine hijacker, and tried cooing to the thing. I spoke in soothing tones, calmed him, opened the door again to get in, and he transformed once more into an insane, snarling mutt.
This went on for a while, and I began to notice cars driving onto the relatively empty street I was on and parking behind my own. Each car had one, lone woman inside, and they were all watching me.
I went back and forth with the dog, even going over to the passenger’s side door to try to just reach in and get my purse and cell phone, but the raging mutt would not allow me to put any of my body parts inside that vehicle.
Eventually, one of the 10 or so women sitting in their vehicles, opened her minivan window and asked me what the hell was going on. I put on my most approachable smile and my least threatening voice, and told her the entire story. “Oh,” she said, “I’ll help you.”
Awesome, I thought. Help, at last! We’ll get the dog to its owner in no time! The woman emerged from her minivan, slid the side door open, moved some shit around, and came out with a gigantic hockey stick held like an offensive weapon in her hand. She made her way over to my car, opened the passenger side door, opened the driver’s side door, and then shoved the hockey stick in at the dog, who went crazy as he was jabbed and attacked by this insane bus stop Mom.
The hockey stick approach worked, the dog jumped out of the car, and again started running around the street. During this time, the bus came and dropped off a shit load of evil, tiny elementary school children, and the moms all departed.
I was left standing there, outside my car, still watching this dog act suicidal. Since I now had access to my cell phone, I could finally call hubby to help me out of this mess. Problem was, I had no clue where I was. I called hubby, in tears, gave him the name of the street I was on, and urged him to come quickly so the dog wouldn’t be injured.
My knight in shining Hyundai showed up, got out of his car and the dog ran to him like a long-lost lover. He practically leaped into hubby’s arms and licked his face off. Rotten bastard.
Hubby took the dog in his car, and led me to City Hall, which was 2 blocks and one avenue away from where I was. After dropping off the water bill, I made my way home and hubby and I called the numbers on the dog’s tags and got information about him. After a fight with the dog’s vet (who wouldn’t hold him), an hour-long search for the dog’s home, which was listed as an address that actually didn’t exist, and finally getting a call back from the dog’s owner, we found out where he belonged.
In the house he was outside of when I originally found him.