I can't deny that I did some foolish, risky things as a teenager and "young adult." I admit that my behavior even bordered on being downright dangerous at times. (With the possible exception of the Amish or maybe the Mennonites, most adults can probably grudgingly admit to the same!) I certainly did my share of partying a little too hard, driving when I had too much to drink, and trusting total strangers when it could have had horrible consequences.
However, when I was 18 and a freshman at Michigan State, I found myself in a bad situation that was completely beyond my control. I decided to spend my spring break in Florida and flew down to my grandparents' house in Clermont, near Orlando, where I was meeting my cousin Audrey. She was also a college freshman, attending Florida State. We'd never been all that close; having opposite personalities, we had many disagreements over the years when our families got together. But since we were both in Florida for spring break, we decided to get together and spend a couple days with our grandparents, then drive Audrey's car to Daytona Beach, where we'd stay with some friends of hers who had an apartment there.
Our plans went off without a hitch and a good time was had by all in Daytona... until it was time to leave. Audrey had hooked up with a boyfriend from college, and he talked her into driving directly back to school rather than going back to our grandparents' house. They assured me they'd give me a ride to the Daytona bus station where I could catch a bus back to Clermont. I could then get a taxi for the short ride from the bus station to the house. Simple, right? I didn't have a good feeling about this change of plans, but what could I do? They were insistent. True to form, I felt double-crossed by my cousin, just as I had so many times before when we were little.
After being dropped off at the bus station, my bad feelings were confirmed. I was informed very matter-of-factly by an unconcerned employee at the window that there was no longer a bus going to Clermont; that particular run had been discontinued several months prior. My grandparents didn't drive anymore and I certainly didn't know anybody else I could call. Those were the days before cell phones, so there was no way I could reach my cousin and tell her to turn around and get her selfish butt back to Daytona! I took a look at my dwindling funds and called a taxi service from a pay phone, fighting against a feeling of panic rising within me. Sure enough, just as I feared, the taxi ride for such a long distance was much more than I could afford.
So I did the only other thing I could think of. I summoned up my courage, walked out to the highway with my backpack slung over my shoulder, and stuck out my thumb. It wasn't long before a middle-aged traveling salesman with a friendly demeanor picked me up. He was very talkative, seemed nice, and soon put me at ease. There were just two problems. He was only going half the distance I needed to go and.... hadn't I heard about the serial killer who was murdering girls hitchhiking in the central Florida area? I knew by the concerned look on Mr. Salesman's face that he was completely serious. In the blink of an eye, my unplanned adventure had suddenly turned sinister. He even said if it weren't for the fact that he had a business meeting later in the day that he just couldn't miss, he'd gladly go out of his way to take me the entire distance. By the time we reached the town where he lived, I was terrified and could tell he genuinely felt bad and had some serious misgivings as he dropped me off.
Once again I found myself out on the highway, but this time my thumb was shaking badly as I prayed that someone nice with good intentions would take pity on me and pick me up quickly. Suddenly, a squad car came around a bend in the road. The officer pulled up slowly beside me, rolling down the passenger window and shaking his head in absolute disbelief for a full minute before asking, "Don't you know how dangerous it is out here?" At that point, the last tiny bit of courage I had in my body melted away and I began to sob. The officer told me to get in the car and asked for my ID. He told me he was checking to make sure I wasn't a runaway. With tears streaming down my face, I explained my plight. He told me that he could take me only as far as the county line, then he'd have to figure out another way to get me where I was headed.
After driving awhile, he pulled off to the shoulder and we came to a stop right in front of the sign for the next county. As we sat in silence, I noticed he was intently scrutinizing each car that passed by. Suddenly he turned on the siren and with lights flashing, he pulled out behind a full-size luxury sedan occupied by an older couple. He could tell by their license plate that they were from Clermont and apparently he figured they looked "safe." Initially perplexed at being pulled over, they listened to the officer's explanation of the situation and agreed to give me a ride to Clermont.
I have to say I was greatly relieved as I settled into their back seat.... but one more loophole reared its ugly head in my saga. During our conversation, the nice couple asked for my grandparents' names... and it turned out that the lady worked as a teller where they banked. Wouldn't it figure? She knew my grandfather well as the blind, elderly man she often waited on. Once again I panicked; I did not want my grandparents to know about the horrible situation I had been in. I swallowed all my pride and asked her to please not tell my grandfather that she had met me. He would worry himself sick over my escapade. She told me she understood and wouldn't mention a word.
We pulled into my grandparents' driveway and as luck would have it, I could see my grandmother peering out through the slats of the Venetian blinds in the livingroom. As I entered the house, she asked me in utter surprise, "What happened to Audrey and how did you happen to get a ride with the lady from the bank?" I explained that Audrey needed to go back to school sooner than she had expected. That much was true. Then I told a lie--that I had taken the bus from Daytona and when I arrived at the Clermont bus station, the "bank lady" had struck up a conversation with me and realizing she knew my grandparents, had offered me a ride to the house. The explanation seemed to satisfy her. As I sunk into an easy chair, I relaxed for the first time in many hours, relieved that my ordeal was over. And vowing never to let Audrey railroad me again!
As a postscript to my story, I did get a certain amount of revenge a few years later. Audrey came to live for a short while in Boulder, Colorado when I was there. We saw each other a few times and made arrangements to go out together one night. That same night, my roommates made plans to see the movie "Pink Flamingos," a cult flick that I also wanted to see. Hmmmm, should I spend the evening with Audrey during which she'd probably meet someone and leave me stranded, or should I go out and have fun with my roommates? I did something very uncharacteristic for me and stood Audrey up for the better offer--the same thing she had done to me several times. I'm not proud of it, and if it was anyone else I wouldn't have done it. My mother always told me that "two wrongs don't make a right." But sometimes it's awfully tempting to "give someone a taste of their own medicine!"
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