So I was going to drop off some papers at my boss's apartment complex earlier this month. I'd never been there before and had no idea how to get there. The directions I had seemed pretty straight forward, though, so I drove over there not really worrying about anything.
My boss had told me to pull up to the gate just outside the complex and then call her and she would come open it with her magic button of opening that the apartment people had so kindly supplied her.
When I followed the directions, though, things seemed really weird. For one, the gate was sort of rusty and really set far back off the road. Plus, you couldn't see any apartments from the gate. It had a sort of creepy vibe, but I'm easily spooked, so I ignored the feeling and called the boss.
NOTE: Never ignore feelings of creepiness! There's a reason you have instincts.
She says she'll be right out. While I'm waiting, some guy in a beat-up suburban pulls up behind me and hits his magical gate opening device and waves me through.
"That was nice of him," I think.
Oh, foolish Jason.
So it becomes very apparent that this is not the place I'm looking for. There are only 3 or 4 really decrepit houses behind this gate, with a little dingy office set over to the side. There are no cars in the place besides the suburban, which quickly pulls into a garage and is never seen again. Realizing that I'm in the wrong and ever so disturbing place, I turn around to head out the gate. No such luck, you need a opener to get out the gate. Try the other side of the complex, same result.
"The hell?" I say to myself. So I'm trapped in a weird housing complex parking lot in the middle of Dallas, surrounded by really tall hedges and gates that don't open. I go to call my boss again, only to see that my phone isn't working anymore. And because it's that sort of day, I look down and see that I'm almost out of gas. It's like I fell right into the middle of a bad Steven King short story.
It's been about 10 minutes now. The office is completely empty and looks abandoned, for serious, and I haven't seen a single person since crazy man in the suburban who is no doubt warming up the chainsaw right now, as I sit contemplating my doom. And my air conditioning is still broke, so I'm sweating like nothing else.
"Why me?" I think to myself. "I'm too young to die in a slasher movie." And then I realize I am exactly the right age to die in a slasher movie, and that just makes me sadder.
20 minutes in, I'm about to give in to fate and go knock on some doors, where no doubt no one will answer except for the last one, and the door will mysteriously creak open while I'm knocking, and it'll be really dark inside, but then I'll wander inside anyway, and as I'm looking around, the door will slam shut and lock, leaving me in a dark and strange house with a bunch of scary portraits and taxidermy animals, where a madman no doubt lurks, sharpening his collection of knives and laughing at odd times where I can hear him, but can't see him and OH MY GOD, WHAT'S THAT ON THE STAIRS???---
But then a woman in a nice BMW pulls out of garage #2 and lets me out of the back gate.
And that's when I realize that I watch way too many movies. And that the imagination is a dangerous tool. Especially my imagination, because I've lost my damn mind.
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