By This is the story of how I died.
That might be a slight exaggeration of the events that unfolded but I’ll be honest, there was a moment of “holy shit, I’m about to become one of those fucking urban legends.”
Let me set the scene.
I decided to go see a movie after work because there is nothing like taking yourself on a nice movie date. I opted to see Jeepers Creepers: Reborn since it was only playing for three days and this was the one night I could go. (Spoiler alert: it was horrible and I might write about it at another time because it was just that bad and the world needs to know.)
Naturally, by the time I got out of the movie it was late and dark out. I should mention that there’s a movie theater where I work so my car was parked where I had left it in the morning which was in an area that wouldn’t see a lot of action at that hour of the night.
I really didn’t think much of it until I got to my car and saw a yellow sticky note on the driver’s side door handle.
Here it is:
Obviously, I saw this and immediately thought that someone had hit my car while I was parked there all day but then, because of who I am as a person, my brain immediately went to all those stories you hear about people finding weird things on their car and when they investigate they get kidnapped and human trafficked and whatnot.
I was torn between wanted to check out my car for damage and wanted to get the hell out of there.
Deciding that I was prime kidnapping material, I got into the car and left the area. I stopped in a different part of the parking lot that was completely empty and well lit, did a quick look around, and found absolutely nothing wrong with it. No dents, broken things, nothing.
I needed to stop for gas as it was so while I was there I did a Google search for similar notes left on cars. The internet seemed a bit torn about what was happening. Some people reported that it was overly aggressive dealers looking to buy your car and sell you another one, others talked about their car having existing damage and these people wanted to fix it, and others mentioned human trafficking schemes trying to get you to go to a second location.
Given the childish handwriting on my note, I can only assume that it was a thirty-year-old Russian woman who can pass as a child and was planning on murdering me in my sleep after I adopted her.
Needless to say, I won’t be calling my future murderer any time soon.
Be safe out there friends.
Avoiding Neverland 