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Hey, welcome back to the podcast. I really hope you enjoy this episode. And if you'd like to hear more stories like these with a different background sound, please check the description to check out my other two podcasts. And if you want to get rid of all of the ads, you can subscribe for just $2.99 a month. Last thing I really appreciate you being here and I'd really love if you would follow the podcast and come back again soon. Thank you so much. I hope you enjoy. When I was 7 years old, I lived on 62nd Street. I had a ton of neighborhood kids that I played with every day and the days were spent roller skating, riding bikes and going from house to house playing with all my friends. It was 1981 and my parents were pretty relaxed about letting me leave and be gone all day until nightfall. I don't remember when I first saw Mr. Hinkle, the old man that lived at the end of the block, but I remember the other kids warning me about him. Make sure never to walk in front of Mr. Hinkle's house. If he sees you, he'll run out and chase you. Mr. Hinkle grabbed me and tried to drag me into his house one time when I was getting my Frisbee out of his front yard. Mr. Hinkle is the meanest old man in the world. Mr. Hinkle hates kids. After hearing all this, I was afraid, but I was also intrigued. I wondered if he really was as mean as they had all said. Would he actually try to chase us? So over time we all got a bit braver and started to walk in front of his house. Nothing happened the first four times we did it, but on the fifth time I heard the screen door open and there he was. I see a short, bald, wrinkled old man holding a wooden cane raised over his head, shouting at us kids to get off his property. He wasn't fast, but he began to shuffle out the door towards us. I noticed he was wearing slippers and I was surprised by that for some reason. But then all of us ran as fast as lightning to get out of there. Once we were all the way down the block, we stopped running and began to laugh and talk excitedly about what just happened. It was like seeing Bigfoot or the Wolf man and outrunning them. Seeing such a feeble and slow old man made us feel that he couldn't do anything to us. So after a couple of days we decided to up the stakes just a little on our fascination with him. I dare you to knock on Mr. Hinkle's door. This dare went on between all of us kids for about two days before someone was finally brave enough to try was Mikey, the oldest boy of 10. As we all watched from the safety of some bushes across the street, none of us breathed as Mikey crept over to Mr. Hinkle's driveway. My stomach was in my throat as Mikey tiptoed over to the porch and the front door. Just as Mikey reached his arm out to bang on the door, Mr. Hinkle whisked the door open faster than we thought possible and grabbed Mikey by the arm. We heard him shouting at the boy, who was hopping up and down trying to get away. We all screamed and ran in every direction to each of our houses. I ran so fast I never looked back. As I rushed in my house, breathlessly telling my mother about the kidnapping I had just witnessed, she clearly didn't believe me and told me that I should be ashamed of myself for bothering a little old man. I was then forbidden from going down to Mr. Hinkle's house again and sent to my room. As I sat on my bed, I could only imagine what was happening to Mikey. The next day, as I rode my bike down the sidewalk, there was Mikey. I rushed over to ask him what happened. He dragged me into his house and he was laughing because I couldn't get away. He had an ironed grip on my wrist, but my brothers taught me how to fight, so I kicked him right in the knee and he let me go. He was bent over, so I knew it had to hurt. My mom went and talked to him. After I told her what happened, she said she would call the police if we came near his house again. So I'm basically grounded. Wow. Me too, I said. After this, we all left the old man alone. It wasn't worth it, and after seeing Mikey get grabbed, it was just too scary to mess with. So life went on. Months went by. I only saw Mr. Hinkle one other time when a nurse was helping him get out of his car and walking him into his house. It looked like he had a nurse with him at all times, so we all assumed he was really sick. But as I said, life went on. And we forgot all about mean old Mr. Hinkle. Until one day in October. It was about two weeks before Halloween, and all of us kids were totally excited. The neighborhood was decorated and we talked about trick or treating, which houses were the best and what costumes would were going to be playing. Somewhere in the middle of the block, we finally look over and notice that Mr. Hinkle is sitting in a lawn chair in the middle of his driveway. He never came outside, so this was definitely out of the ordinary. He was wearing a large brown fedora hat, a tan jacket and trousers, brown leather shoes. His cane was resting against his his leg and on his lap was a huge punch bowl filled to the brim with candy. We watched him for a minute until he looked over at us and smiled. Ah, young children, come and get some candy. He yelled. He then chuckled to himself, but kept smiling this weird, too large of a smile. It instantly felt like a trap. We huddled together and talked it over. Should we go over there? No. But he's got all that candy. It's a trick. I don't know. Let's just walk over. But don't cross the street. We finally all agreed. We slowly walked over towards the end of the block, making sure to stay on the opposite side of the street from his house. Yes, come children. Get you some candy. He bellowed as he saw us walking towards him. It was completely and totally weird. We all knew this was not right, but the temptation of candy was just too enticing for all of us. We had to know what the catch was. Finally, we are directly across the street from Mr. Hinkle. Come. Come on, have some candy. He would keep yelling. Mikey finally shrugged his shoulders and walked over. Mr. Hinkle just smiled and nodded his head. And Mikey gingerly grabbed a candy bar from the punch bowl. He stood there and opened it and Mr. Hinkle, seemingly understanding that Mikey was the test dummy, said, see? Don't you want some candy? My friend Ben Beth then walked over and got some candy. She stood right there and ate it. Me and Angela exchanged looks and smiled. Guess it's alright. We ran across the street and both reached in and grabbed some candy. Good. Mr. Hinkle said. We all stood there eating our candy and Mr. Hinkle, still smiling, said, go get some more. As we all clustered around the punch bowl, each of us grabbing more candy. Mr. Hinkle had picked up his cane without us noticing. Thwack. Thwack. Thwack. He laughed as he began wailing on all of our heads with his cane. Get you some candy. Mr. Hinkle yelled and laughed as he swung the cane wildly, trying to hit us again. We were all stunned, but we all yelled and ran far enough away so that he couldn't reach us. We stood there watching him, confused as to why this little old man was so crazy. Finally his nurse came out and said, Mr. Hinkle, you get back in this house and leave those Kids alone. And she bent to pull him up out of the chair, moving the candy to the ground. Mr. Hinkle was still wildly laughing and shaking his cane up to the sky as she led him inside. We all went home quietly, wondering what just happened. Too young to understand. Two nights before Halloween, I heard sirens. I looked out my window to see an ambulance head heading down the street and to see it stop in front of Mr. Hinkle's house. I saw lots of commotion, but I didn't know what was going on. I found out the next day that Mr. Hinkle died. I was sad but disturbed and I didn't know why. Halloween night was a blast and after gorging on candy and watching all the Halloween cartoons that night I finally went to bed. I woke up to a loud thunderstorm. My bed laid directly underneath my window to my room. And when I was lying in bed I could see outside. Lightning flashed and Mr. Hinkle was staring at me through my window. He was wearing his big brown fedora and he was tapping his cane against my window and he had that sickening too wide smile and crazy eyes. You got some candy, didn't you, you dirty little girl? He said in a sing song type of voice. I screamed and cried for my mother as I ran out of my room. My parents rolled their eyes, chalking it up to too much sugar and too much imagination. But I refused to sleep in my room for a week after that. The day after this happened, all my friends talked about the terrible nightmare they had all had about Mr. Hinkle being outside their window. Every single one of us experienced the same thing. Everyone seemed to accept it as just a bad shared nightmare. I was the only one who always wondered what really happened. Was I asleep? What was that thing outside my window? I live in rural southwestern Ontario in a town called Tilsenburg in the heart of the Tobacco belt. I was born and raised in Norfolk county and have since lived all over the province. And my sleepy little corner of the woods is without a shadow of a doubt as bizarre as it is isolated. It isn't isolated in a physical sense. More so in the sense that it has always and will always be rural farm farmland peppered with Carolinian forests, small towns and the kind of self hatred you can only find out in the country or in small towns nobody ever escapes. Now, like most small communities, belief in the paranormal is quite common. These things can easily be explained away. Historically, rural communities have attended tendency to hold onto superstition and the soul crushing boredom that small communities are faced with. Often presents a golden opportunity for a story due to a traumatic event involving a violent carjacking. I moved in with my girlfriend's family about six months ago. I have heard countless stories about ghostly encounters in this house from my girlfriend beforehand, which usually left me in an odd combination of sincere belief, skepticism and intrigue. That is, until I started having experiences myself. My first encounter in the house was six months before I moved in. My girlfriend, like I said, filled me in on plenty of stories about the entities she has encountered here, and while her experiences correlate with her parents own experiences in the house, she by far has the most frequent encounters. According to her, there are three active entities in her house an old woman who lived here in the 1930s, a tall and hulking dark male energy, and what we call the Crawly Boy. While she is sure of the identity of the woman, she has never been entirely certain that the latter two are indeed two separate entities. Whether the Crawly Boy is the same entity as the tall man is unclear. We aren't entirely sure why he crawls, if it is meant to scare us, or if this was just some poor guy who had his legs crushed by some farming equipment. We were sitting in the living room in the early morning around 1am maybe 2am to this day she tries way too hard to stay up with me. The pristine silence of a mostly asleep house is an enticing prospect for the introverted. We were sitting and watching TV when she starts complaining about seeing wisps, usually indicative of a migraine. A few minutes later I started seeing them too. That happens down here at nine night, she said to me. Sometimes I think it's just a migraine, but then sometimes other people see it too. Five or ten minutes later I happened to glance over into the adjoining dining room and wouldn't you know, I saw it too. It's hard to accurately describe, but I'll try. You will see movement out of the corner of your eye. A white shapeless mass will register in your periphery, usually whipping by or disappearing as soon as you turn your head. Sometimes you don't even register it as it can resemble a coming migraine or exhaustion. But if you pay attention to the room around you, it is anything but normal. As we are sitting there, I glanced up into the dining room and noticed that something was off. It was as if the room was distorted, as if the room itself and all of its contents were vibrating and that vibration caused everything to just wiggle. Seeing this, any rational mind in the modern age would probably jump to gas leak as a probable explanation for this, but I swear to you, our carbon monoxide and gas detectors are functional. If there was a gas leak in the house that was large enough to distort the appearance of an entire room, we would all be dead. So we are sitting there just watching and wondering what could cause this, when out of nowhere comes the unmistakable feeling of being watched. My girlfriend suddenly shifts her gaze to under the table. I look unsure of what I'm seeing. I could have sworn that I saw a blur along the floor under the dining room table. It was then that she tells me that she had seen something crawling along the floor and seemingly hiding. At any rate, it's gone by this point, but the feeling of being watched is still very much present. Time goes by and we go back to doing what we were doing. I had gotten up to get a refill and sat down, picking up the remote but fumbling and dropping it. As I get up to lean down and pick it up from beside the recliner next to me, I catch a glimpse of something I can hardly believe. As I pick up the remote, I see something under the couch. Something moving. I focus in on what I'm seeing and my brain finally registers what it is. An arm. A thin, pale arm with what I can only describe as silvery, putrefied skin as it skulks back further under the couch. Every horror movie on earth has prepared us for this situation. Nothing good comes to those who look. And so we didn't. Six months later, after I had moved in, we were sitting on the front porch in the heat of the summer, talking about whatever when the subject turned to ghosts. Like I said, just about any person living here will tell you a ghost story if you talk to them long enough. This particular conversation involved the creepy state statue of the Virgin Mary at the church across the street. And somewhere in the conversation, her son, just recently having turned 10, looks up at us and says, one time I saw a man without legs and he was crawling past our house from over by the hospital toward the church. I went to a Renaissance fair for the first time in my life in 2017 at age 28. I was super excited to finally go and had a few items I was going to look for. The day of the fair was very fun. Picking up beers to carry around to different booths and browsing things that can't be bought in any regular store. It was not too hot and I found a great kid kilt that I purchased. But something happened that day that turned the next two days into some of the worst of my life. By the time I went to bed that night, my head was swimming and my vision was mercurial, but that can easily be explained by heat, alcohol, and exhaustion. The day after the fair was a Monday and I had to be at my still new job before 8am in downtown Dallas. Driving to work is when I started to feel that something was terribly wrong with me. I noticed this first by my reaction to music. If I started listening to a song, I had to finish it even if I didn't like it. The voices of the classic rock songs I know by heart had shifted up or down a half a step in Timber. I also was starting to literally see the music laid out on the freeway in front of me. By the time I got to work, I was pretty freaked out. I felt like I had taken a hallucinogenic drug. But the thing was, I didn't.
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Take anything. I don't like the idea of taking anything because if anyone was going to have a bad trip, I knew that my neurotic and macabre brain would make it happen. I also have severe katsuratophobia. Mock me if you want, but everyone has a story behind their worst visceral fear. While I was sitting at my desk and talking to my boss, the Chief Operating officer, I saw dozens of satans or cockroaches crawling around the walls and floors behind him. I also felt like I had to hold onto my desk to keep from falling over. My boss's voice was constantly changing decibels and I was just trying to keep it together for dear life. Trying to work that day was hell. At one point I had to go up to the wellness room in our office meant for breastfeeding mothers so I could lie on the floor in complete darkness and silence for an hour. While I drove home that evening, the bizarre reactions to music intensified. If the songs changed tempo suddenly, it freaked me out. If there were high and low notes, rapid fire in the song, I could barely breathe. I will never be able to listen to the Devil Went down to Georgia the same way Again. That night I tried to enjoy this unwelcome trip by something solo and NSFW with disastrous results. One of the most physically painful nights of my life. The next morning I felt a little better but was not back to normal. Because I took no drugs, I was not legitimately worried that I was having a psychotic break. I have an anxiety disorder and my mental health has struggled over the years. I ended up calling my psychiatrist's office to beg for an emergency phone session. While I described everything I had been experiencing, he listened patiently and said that I could have been slipped something at the fair, but also could be experiencing a psychotic break. When I got to the NSFW disaster, he was completely shocked by what happened and said there was no way my brain did that to itself. The conclusion was that someone slipped me a cocktail of very powerful hallucinogens into one of my beers. To add insult to injury, I learned that the most powerful drugs like that also get out of your system the fastest. For that reason, I still don't know what some cruel person gave to me. For God only knows what reason, I held it together with my job and left with no lasting effects except the confusion and curiosity that I still have. Six years later. In 2019, my husband and I were newly married with a one year old daughter. He had recently reconnected with his stepfather and he invited us to a fourth of July fireworks show with his family in a larger city near us. We had a great time reconnecting and enjoying the show from a distance so as to not upset our one year old and allow her the experience of seeing fireworks for the first time. It was a lot of fun and a good memory as one of our first family outings. However, what happened afterward still haunts my husband and I to this day. After finally exiting the traffic from the fireworks show, we headed to the nearest gate gas station. My husband went inside to prepay with cash as the price was 10 cents cheaper that way and my daughter and I waited inside the car. I always try to be aware of my surroundings, especially in places that I'm not familiar with, but it was hard not to notice the man standing out front of the gas station. He was leaning against the brick wall, struggling to see sit still, eyes darting back and forth among the various customers at the pumps. When he noticed me in the car, basically alone, he immediately locked eyes with me and did not look away. His gaze was incredibly intense and made me very uncomfortable. Like all women, I'm used to the usual gas station creep who can't stop staring and might even make a weird remark or two. But there was something about this man's glare that was deeply unsettling. There was an emptiness behind his eyes and a primal element to his stare. I was very relieved when my husband returned to the car moments later. My relief did not last, however. The man became visibly agitated upon seeing my husband dream turn. His face became angry and his gaze shifted quickly back and forth between myself and my husband. He began getting antsy again and started pacing back and forth, never taking his eyes off of us. My husband noticed this too, and began watching the man, trying to figure out what his deal was. The man then made a beeline for our car and my stomach dropped to my knees. Something was deeply wrong and I was terrified of what was about to happen. As he made his way over, my husband told me to lock the doors and I gladly obliged as I learned from talking to my husband. Later, when the man approached him at the pump, he recounted some sob story about his girlfriend abandoning him there and asked for a ride home. My husband said that the entire time he was telling his story, he was staring at me in the car while he already found this guy scary. He said he immediately understood the man's intentions and began trying to get him to leave. He told him that no, we were sorry, but we could not give him a ride. We needed to get our daughter home, and we weren't traveling anywhere near his direction. The man insisted, pleading his case with my husband. With each refusal, he got angrier and angrier, and while I couldn't hear the conversation inside the car, I noticed the change in his demeanor and I was terrified he was going to get violent. After several refusals, my husband pulled out his phone and told the man that if he didn't leave us alone, he was going to call the cops. The man gritted his teeth, gave me an angry glare, and walked back to his previous post at the front of the gas station. My husband quickly returned the nozzle to the pump, closed the tank, and jumped back in the car. As we sped off, I took one last clip, glance behind me, and the man was angrily watching us leave as he puffed on a cigarette in front of the station. When he got back in the car, my husband was pretty shaken up. As we drove away, he told me what the man had said and how unnerving it was that he would not take his eyes off of me while he was talking to him. He said he was terrified the man was going to try to force his way into the car because of how insistent and angry he was becoming. He was surprised and relieved that the man actually walked away. Needless to say, this was one of the most unsettling experiences we have ever had and I don't want to imagine what would have happened to my young family if this man hadn't given up when he did. In my early 20s, I used to deliver newspapers overnight twice a week, usually from around 12 to 6am it was one of the most enjoyable jobs I have ever had as an introvert, but being a young female traveling through the darkness and isolation of the late night made me a little paranoid. This led to some incidents that were terrifying in the moment but quickly became a laughable memory. The first scary experience I had was after having been on the job for over a month. I had become comfortable with my route and was able to do it mostly by memory at this point. In this instance I was approaching a historical Victorian home with a wraparound porch. The walkway up to the porch was was long, dark and surrounded by thick plant life and it was always a little creepy. This night I approached the porch as usual and tossed the paper toward the requested door. This door was at the end of a narrow dark corridor, so I would stop at the beginning of the corridor and toss the paper as I have terrible night vision and didn't want to trip on something something and make a big scene. I went through with my usual routine of tossing the paper from a distance when suddenly a dark shape came flying at me from near the door. I screamed, turned on my heel and ran to my car. Upon looking up as I opened my car door, I realized it was only a black cat and I had probably frightened him just as much as he had frightened frightened me. The second incident occurred not long after the first. My route was split in half between the edge of town in ritzy suburban neighborhoods and isolated farms that took me down long dirt roads miles from civilization. One night I pulled up to a mailbox in front of an old farmhouse right on the edge of a large field. I grabbed a paper from my back seat seat and as I reached my arm out the window to place the paper in the box, I noticed the face of a creature right next to my arm, close enough that it could have easily moved forward a few feet and quickly made its way through my open window. I screamed as I struggled to process what I was seeing with my poor night vision when I realized it was just a deer hanging out next to the paper box. I am not sure how I didn't spook him, but he was totally unbothered by either my presence or my scream. I laughed, hoped to God I didn't wake anyone and finished out my night. The third and creepiest incident was the result of building paranoia over the course of months and occurred at the end of my time delivering papers. Since starting the route, I had noticed the same vehicle almost every night driving slowly through one of the nicest subdivisions on my route. Being a lone female at around 2 or 3am this was unnerving, but they were never close enough to think much of it. I kept my eyes on the vehicle with every visit, especially since I was there at varying times of night, but somehow always managed to see the same vehicle meandering through the neighborhood. One night in mid fall, probably early October, I approached a home whose paper box required me to get out of the car and walk across the road to deliver their paper. I grabbed the paper, placed my hand on the door handle, and suddenly spotted something out of the corner of my eye. In the distance about 30 yards from the mailbox, there was a figure standing extremely still. The figure was facing my car as if they were watching me and not moving a muscle. The figure was dressed in all dark colored clothing except for a lighter colored shirt with stripes which made some kind of reflective material akin to a construction vest. I immediately thought of the slow moving vehicle I always saw in this neighborhood. Nope. I locked my doors, took a deep breath and took a second look. My brain could not come up with a good reason why someone would be standing so still in the middle of the yard at such a late hour, nor rationalize what I might be seeking. I was ready to completely abandon the entire neighborhood for the night and come back with someone else after sunrise to finish my deliveries. I decided to turn my brights on and take one last look to confirm that I was really seeing what I thought I was seeing. I flipped the switch, looked up and found myself staring at a very well made scarecrow. A scarecrow. It was then I realized that it was indeed October and our town always had a scarecrow competition. I hope these homeowners won because it was very well put together and in the darkness I absolutely could not tell the difference between the scarecrow and an actual human being. I moved on to a better job shortly after the third incident accident, but I was left with a lot of interesting stories from the short time on my route. This happened years ago when I was 19. I'm now in my mid-20s. I still remember this very clear it's
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Work your magic yearly because of how creeped out I was back then. I was living 600 plus miles away from my parents in a different state. Even though there was a distance, my mom and I still talked on the phone at least twice a week and we were still really close. So when we found out her cancer was back, I didn't think twice about dropping everything to drive down to see her. A plane ticket would be too expensive and I had a 10 year old Toyota that might have been a bit beat up but still got me from A to B cheaply and quietly. My parents weren't thrilled at the idea of me driving the 11 hours by myself, but my mind was made up so they offered me a deal. I would stop at a rest stop every 23 hours and stretch my legs and call them. And in exchange for this courtesy, they would pay for my gas. If I did not call within the three hour window though, they would assume that I had been in an accident and would call me repeatedly, interrupting the audiobook or podcast that they knew that I would have on. I accepted the deal and that's why I was at this particular rest stop at 2:45am this was actually one of the nicer stops, well lit, multiple vending machines that did not have huge cages around them. The payphone was not broken broken and it looked clean. There were a couple cars there with people sleeping in them. I still had 15 minutes before I had to check in with my parents. I got out of my car and stretched and then almost jumped out of my skin when I heard A man's voice right behind me. Miss, can I ask you for a favor? I turned around and he's leaning against me. My car. I have no idea how he got there so fast. I didn't see him when I parked, but there he was, uncomfortably close to me. He looked like he's in his 40s. He didn't look dirty or twitchy. He was too close. But his body language did not scream threatening. And even though I was 19 years old, barely over 5ft and at that point in my life, 110 pounds soaking wet and even though I had already binged a lot of true crime media and knew the dangers of a girl my age alone at night with an out of state license plate, my dumb self asked what he needed. He told me that he accidentally locked his keys and his phone in his truck and asked if he could borrow my phone real quick to call his friends friend. It will just take a second and it will really help him out. And I almost handed him my phone. I was reaching into my pocket to hand it to him with a Pollyanna, no problem. And then I actually looked at his face. Like I said, this rest stop was surprisingly well lit and this guy looked really normal except for his un eyes. He had dead shark eyes. You know what I'm talking about. It's the Ted Bundy Dick Cheney actress in a Glade commercial who's trying to convince us that she's in love with some dumb guy who doesn't know how an air freshener works. Eyes. They're smiling, but the eyes are vacant and creepy and staring way too hard. I got that feeling, that run away feeling. I knew immediately not to hand this guy my only way to call for help. So I put on my best customer service smile and told him, oh, I'm sorry but I don't have a charger and I need to save all my battery for the tracking app that my parents have on my phone and I need the juice to call my parents, which I actually have to do right now, but good luck. And I turned and walked about 20ft away and he does not leave. He was still just leaning against my car watching me. And now I didn't know what to do. I didn't want to leave him alone with my car because he creeped me out and he had a serial killer face. So going to the bathroom is out. But I also wanted to get away from him him prove that I'm not going to help and maybe he'll leave. I could technically get into the car, but I would have to get really close to him. Unless I crawled over my passenger side seat and he's not moving. So I did the first thing that came to mind. I called my dad. And my dad for the first time that night did not pick up the phone. When I heard his voicemail, I glanced back. The guy still had not moved. He's standing still, staring at me. So I faked a phone conversation with my dad. I angled my body so that the guy couldn't see that I had hung up the phone and loudly said that I should be home in about 30 minutes, when in reality I was still at least four hours away. I mentioned exactly where I was and reassured the fake caller that this was a good rest stop with plenty of lighting and a couple of visible security cameras. The guy still had not moved and I am running out of steam on this fake conversation. In the years since, I've thought of a lot of things I could have said while pretending to talk to my dad. But in that moment, I was beginning to seriously freak out and my mind went blank. So I hung up and did not know what to do. I had hoped the fake phone call would scare him off, but he was still leaning against my car. I stalled for another couple of minutes. I bought cookies from the vending machine. I walked around a little. At this point, he's been leaning against my car staring at me for at least 10 minutes. I honestly debated waking up one of the men sleeping in their parked cars and asking for help. And just a thought of having to wake someone up to help me get into my own car annoyed me enough that I stopped stalling and headed right back to my car. I decided that unless he touched me, I'm just going to pretend that he's not there. He waited until I was unlocking my car door before he started talking to me again. He told me again that he really needs to use my phone. He's stranded here unless he can call his friend to bring the spare keys. He's not angry or begging. His voice sounds weirdly friendly, but he had been creepily watching me for way too long. Long while blocking my exit. So I'm not falling for it. I almost pointed out the working payphone just in case I'm wrong about this and I was being rude to a guy who needs help. But then he leaned forward as I was getting in and I lost all nerve and slammed and locked the door as fast as possible. He didn't move until I started the car and put it in reverse. And then he finally stepped back and let me pull out. I didn't even have my seatbelt on. I was so focused on getting away from him and then halfway out of the rest stop, my mom called me. My mom who would freak out if I didn't pick up and who was already sick and I needed to put on my seatbelt. I could still see him in my mirror. He was standing right next to where I was parked with his back to me. He was far enough away that I felt okay parking again to answer the phone, but I kept my engine running and I kept watching him. I don't want my mom to worry, so I told her everything is fine, where I am, my ETA, etc. Now that I was in my locked car away from him, I was beginning to feel like I had overreacted. She scolds me about speeding and I tune her out because the guy is moving now. As my mom lectures me about road safety, I watch the guy cross to a truck, unlock the door and get in the keys. Being locked in no longer seemed to be an issue for him. I watched the truck head back out to the freeway and drive out of sight. I had to pretend to be fine to not upset my mom. I didn't get back onto the road for another 20 minutes and when I did, I did not speed. I did not want to see that truck. I found out years later that the closest city to that rest stop has a major problem problem with sex trafficking and that girls who look like they don't live nearby or maybe look like they are living out of their cars tend to be targets. I don't know if that was what was happening or if he was trying to just scare me into handing over my phone.
- [48:26]
C
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- [60:13]
A
So good. So good. So good.
- [60:16]
C
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- [60:26]
A
How did I not know Rack has Adidas? Cause there's always something new.
- [60:29]
C
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- [60:44]
B
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- [61:13]
C
K Pop Demon Hunters Haja Boys Breakfast
- [61:15]
A
Meal and Hunt Trix Meal have just dropped at McDonald's. They're calling this a battle for the fans.
- [61:20]
C
What do you say to that Rumi? It's not a battle. So glad the Saja Boys could take breakfast and give our meal the rest of the day.
- [61:27]
A
It is an honor to share.
- [61:29]
C
No, it's our honor.
- [61:31]
A
It is our larger honor.
- [61:32]
C
No, really, stop.
- [61:34]
A
You can really feel the respect in this battle.
- [61:38]
C
Pick a meal to pick a side
- [61:41]
A
and participate in McDonald's while supplies last.
- [61:44]
C
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