Emily (0:05)

Around 2007, I was getting my PhD at the University of Florida. I, a 30 year old female, lived in Gainesville in a condo that I owned by myself. I had a friend who was walking across the United States. We'll call him Captain. Captain decided to spend the winter at my house. So he got a mutual friend to drive him from Alabama where he had last stopped walking, to my house in Gainesville. We had a pleasant Thanksgiving and then Captain just kind of chilled at my house for the next several months. It wasn't too big of a deal because I was mostly just staying at my boyfriend's house, but it was a little bit much. When it was time for him to get back to walking, he asked if I would drive him back to the exact location that he had left in Alabama. Looking forward to having my house back, I agreed to drive him one day when I was out of school. I don't remember what route we took or where it was, but I remembered that the drive wasn't that long, relatively speaking. It seems like it should have been, but I guess it was about five, six hours one way. I dropped him off early in the evening and headed back for Florida. This meant that I was driving at night by myself in an unknown part of the country. Conveniently, the GPS technology that we had at the time gave me this extremely backwards route back to Florida to get to where I had dropped off Captain. We stayed on the freeway for most of the time, and then it was about 10 miles off the freeway. Well, Google Maps, or whatever the app was, had decided that the faster way was to take me on all these little back roads through Alabama backcountry. Some serious Deliverance vibes, seriously. So I'm already freaked out a little and occasionally checking in with my boyfriend to let him know where I am. I've driven at night alone tons, but my history with respect to strangers has made me hypervigilant. At some point I became aware that there was a car behind me. I didn't assume that was anything weird until the car stayed with me for several miles. Again, I just shoved it off to maybe Google Maps, giving them the same weird route. But because I was paying attention to the car behind me, I didn't notice when I pulled through some small town that I was taking a left at the wrong intersection. There were two intersections very close together and I was accidentally in the left turn lane to turn left of the intersection before the one I was supposed to turn at. No biggie. I figured it's like two in the morning, so when the Light changed. I drove straight through the intersection and took a left at the next intersection. The car behind me did the same thing. I realized at that point that I was definitely being followed. I immediately called my boyfriend and asked him to look up the not emergency police number for the area I was at. I tried to give him my nearest location, but like any dude who's never been the victim of any kind of assault, he thought I was overreacting. He was in the middle of something and therefore didn't even look up the number for me. In retrospect, I should have absolutely just called 911, but I didn't want to make a big deal out of something that could have been nothing. But that nothing was quickly becoming something indeed. Because I'd been on the back roads in Alabama without a gas station for a long time and my car was in great need of gas. That meant that I would have to exit the vehicle at a gas station that was probably not well manned at this time of night by myself. I was low key, freaking out. It also didn't help that I couldn't see the driver of the car behind me. It was dark and the car had dark tinted windows. Also, Alabama backwoods roads are pretty dang dark. I kept looking in the rear mirror, but I couldn't get a glimpse of the driver. I honestly could not figure out why this person targeted me. And at first I had laughed it off as some kind of Southern football vendetta. I had a UF license plate frame Go Gators. And I was trying to convince myself that this person was just trying to scare me because they liked one of our rival schools. Given that I am a tall woman, it may have been difficult to identify that I was a woman in the car. But either way, this person was clearly following me. And given that I had to stop my car, I was feeling increasingly at risk. Finally, my backwards woods route took me to a relatively larger metropolitan area. I was finally on streets with streetlights and businesses were still lit up. I started to feel safer, but I still had to stop for gas. I had already made a plan as far as that was concerned, but I wanted the guy behind me to know that I was on to him. So at the first intersection that was well lit, I turned fully around in my car seat and stared at him while pretending to talk on the phone. I did this for the entire time. The light was red. I wanted it to look like I was describing his car and his features to whoever was on the phone. Not long after this, I had found a gas station that was well lit up. I was driving on fumes and praying that I wouldn't run out of gas in backwoods Alabama. I pulled into the gas station so that my driver's side door was adjacent to the door of the gas station. Then I jumped out and ran inside. I let the attendant know that I was being followed, and he walked out from behind the counter and walked to the windows and said that no one was there. I was sure that the car had been behind me when I pulled into the station, but seeing that I ran inside, they must have driven off. I still have no idea what the guy's intention was, but he followed me for easily an hour and a half, like a hundred miles. It felt predatory as hell. Thankfully, I was able to gas up my car under the watchful eye of the gas station attendant, and the attendant told me the quickest way to the freeway. My trip was uneventful after that, but I was still shaking and thoroughly pissed off at my boyfriend for not taking me seriously. Stay safe out there. It's been two years since I worked maintenance in two really shady apartments in Birmingham, Alabama. I had made such poor choices and my life was rock bottom. 200 bucks a week in a crappy apartment. Not bad for a struggling drug addict. I had been working with these apartments for about three months when I met Tony. He was an Average, high, late 30s, early 40s, Native American man. He kinda came out of nowhere, but that's not uncommon in that kind of living situation. He dressed nicer than most in our situation, but other than that, he seemed normal. Now, these apartments are under code at best. Their whole purpose is to get the homeless off the street. So I was a little grateful for what little I had. But these units were in such terrible shape that Tony and I's job of maintenance is almost comical. Tony was very skilled in flooring and plumbing, and he was a pretty funny guy. Real quiet, but he'd made quips every now and then with a northern accent. Over the next two months, Tony and I became friends, I guess. Well, if you can call it that. We worked together, lived next door to each other and used together. You see, Tony was very reserved until he did a line of coke. Then he'd start really opening up. He'd start talking about an Indian mafia up north in north Midwest. He talked about how he was born into it. And I've gotta be honest, I was high and so was he. So I just started laughing because it just sounded so ridiculous. And I was pretty sure it was a joke. However, I'll Never forget the look in his face and his eyes. It was this dead stare with a slight smirk, like he was somewhere else reliving something. And it was terrifying. I said, hey man, if you ever need to talk. To which he then replied, nah, man, it's fine. Another life. Let's go get some coke. So we called up this guy and went to go meet him up the hill like usual. The guy's cousin called back and said, our dude got hemmed up. Then he hung up. Tony then said, damn, well, I know this other guy. And he proceeded to call him up. And as the guy rolls up, I kinda had this feeling in my stomach. Something wasn't right. Tony had our money and was leaning in the car. And that's when I heard Tony then yell, nah, screw that. And the guy tried to peel off. Tony had a death grip on this man, dragging him through the driver window. Tony screamed, you tried to stiff me, punk. He hit this man so hard, I swear he was trying to punch through his face. He wouldn't stop. Blood and flesh mixing with gravel on the ground. I then screamed. Tony stopped. Screw this, man. Let's go. Screw you, man. Check his pockets. Tony yelled. Ivan said, I've got it, man. Let's just go, please. His face, his eyes. He just looked possessed. With one more kick to this broken man's head, we fled. We fled into the dark. What the hell have you done, Tony? What did you do? I'm a freaking white guy, bro. You're a Native American. We stick out, you idiot. They're going to freaking kill us. You've killed us, man. I shouted with tears in my eyes. They won't do a damn thing. I punked him out. Besides, that little punk didn't see you. If he comes around again and flashes his 9 millimeter, I'll dome him. Tony said in a cold matter of fact tone of voice. His tone of voice sent chills down my spine. I've never met someone as terrifying as Tony in my life. The next morning he told me a bit more. Still totally coked out, mind you. Look, without saying too much, Tony told me that he worked in a series of Native American casinos as someone who dealt with loans and collections. If you couldn't pay up Tony and another person like Tony would show up and handle it. He said things are different on the reservations. That's what people don't get. As he then took a sip of his beer. I'm not gonna lie, I was pretty fascinated with his stories. And I mean, come on, they were just stories right over the next few months, my worry that someone would come for us settled down some and we moved on with life. Fixing up apartments, doing drugs, rinse and repeat. Until one day we were working on a sink, kind of tweaking a little. And up until this point I would listen to his Mafioso stories with a childlike wonder. But on this day, he told a story that kind of made me feel sick. He told me about this Social Security scheme that basically consisted of him and his bosses cashing Social Security checks of people that had cashed in their souls. He said, yeah, we had six going until it started falling apart. Someone tipped off, hey, y'all finished yet? The drunk tenant said, yep. Tony smiled and said, cleaning up his tools. He smiled and walked out right by me. I was still stunned. From what I'd just heard, if he was telling the truth, then he's a cold hearted monster that's still also on the run. And if he's lying, then he's incredibly messed up in the head. At 3am that night, I found out I was woken up by the loudest bang I've ever heard. After the bang, a flood of blinding light filled the entire apartment complex. A lot of shouting from outside. What the hell's happening? I yelled to my elderly roommate. I ran to the front door and opened it to an armed and armored U.S. marshal and a sea of blue lights. Get back inside right now. The marshal said sternly, with the rifle pointed downwards, but definitely in my direction. So that's what I did. Seeing cops rush our apartment complex is nothing new, but this is the most intense I've seen. The next morning when I came outside, I noticed Tony's door had been smashed in. Holy crap. I thought. While I was walking to the apartment manager's office, I asked what the hell happened last night? She proceeded to tell me that Tony had been on the run for quite a while and had somehow fooled his way into a government funded HUD apartment complex as well as a job with said government funded apartments with an assumed identity. She then turned to me and said with a shocked look, tony hurt a lot of people. Every hair on my body stood on end and all I could get out was, oh, I'm not much for conspiracies, but there was nothing on the news about this arrest. I can't find anything on Google about it either. Then again, it's pretty embarrassing that a state funded homeless program let in an on the run fugitive and then paid him to work maintenance. I only mention this because we had a murder on the apartment grounds. And what little news there was was so incredibly vague that you never really know where they were and were really careful to not mention that they were HUD houses. So yeah, I guess you never really know what's going on in the head of the man next to you. When I was about 11, maybe 12, my family and I moved down to the middle of some abandoned strip mines in rural Alabama. It was awesome. Going swimming and queries. Lots of abandoned equipment and cliff faces to climb, caves and miles and miles of trails. There were abandoned dirt roads used by the mines. It was a lot to explore. The trade off was that there was a lot of venomous snakes. And at night it was dark. No street lights, just the occasional porch light. Maybe every mile or so on the main road. One day in particular, my friend P and I were out on one of the dirt roads that went off to the side of the main road. We hadn't been down that road before, but it was like 10am On a bright summer day and we figured we why not? We had gone maybe a mile down the road and came to a left hand turn. Beside that left turn and alongside the road we were walking on was a small lake. We walked up to the lake and we were watching small frogs and a turtle just swimming around. And when I caught movement across the lake, I saw a man walking away from us heading up the hill. I poked pee and pointed. Who's that? Why is he out here? We were miles into the mines, no people anywhere, no houses nearby. We both stood up and as soon as we got right on our feet, he had stopped walking. In a split second he spun around and came running in our direction. We bolted and I mean ran like Forrest Gump. I looked back and he was running faster than any human I've ever seen. He covered the distance. He had to run down that hill and around the lake to get to us. That round was easily 300 yards and he did this in like seconds. He grabbed me and we jumped off the road and into a ditch behind some bushes. I peeked out and he was maybe 30, 40ft from us, spinning around in the road, making this God awful grunting sound while he did so. And weirdly enough, I swear he had an entire cooked chicken in his hand. He was wearing completely destroyed overalls, dirty boots, and he had what I can only describe as a CRO Magnon brow. Huge. My memory might not be super accurate given how long it's been, but it seems like his forehead stuck out a good 4 inches over his eyes. It was the scariest thing I'd ever seen. He spun around in the road and started running back the way he came. We stayed there in that ditch for almost an hour, afraid to move, listening, watching. In case he was hiding and waiting. We crawled alongside the roadside all the way back to the main road. From there we walked, but we stayed in the treeline until we saw the main paved road. And then we ran. We ran all the way back home. We got home, told our fathers and both of our fathers and P's older brothers loaded up and went looking for him. But they never found him. All these years later and it still haunts me. And oh yeah, my girlfriend recently took me out to her grandmother's house. It was to meet and spend time with her family. And where does dear old Grammy live? Right on the edge of those same strip mines. I told her this story and she looked really serious and said, y'all are lucky. There's all kinds of bad things that happen in those mines. So yeah, every visit to grandma means that the glock and the 12 gauge ride along with us. Anyway. That's my creepy encounter story. I forgot about this until I was telling my dad about riding this here. He reminded me of something. I had gotten beaten up really badly my last day of summer school. So to make me feel better, my parents bought me a Kawasaki motocross bike. My dad had an old Honda racing bike. So we tried to ride out there any chance we got. One day we were out deep in the mines and I saw a wooden crate off the road in the bushes. Me being a nosy kid, I walked over and looked inside. There was a ton of hay, a blanket and an old pillow. I called my dad over and showed him. I remember. Then he looked around and said, if someone's living in that way out here, they don't want to be found or bothered. Lets go home. We hopped on the bikes, rode home, no problems at all. But the weird thing is that my dad sat out on the porch with the light off most of the night, just staring at the edge of the woods. Never said why. And I cannot believe I never put the two incidents together. But now I think I know. But apparently he never saw anything or anyone because he came in late that night. Then he went to bed and never sat out there again. I grew up in a small town in Alabama. A little bit after I graduated high school When I was 18, I had started dating this guy in his early 20s from a nearby city. He was a very handsome, tall, muscular male that we'll call Sean for the sake of this story he told me on our first date then he used to be part of a very well known gang in the United States. Sean explained that he had only been part of this gang in his younger years because he had grown up in a bad area and hadn't really had any other options including being aware of gang signs associated with the said gang and having tattoos associated with the gang. And I did google to see if the tattoos and gang signs were in fact associated with said gang since I knew there are some people who like to lie about being ex gang members along with other things for some reason to seem cool. Sean didn't seem like the type to lie about that though. I gave Sean the benefit of the doubt because he didn't really give me any bad vibes. I remember that he was always a gentleman to me and he treated me very well. So of course I didn't really suspect anything about him. We dated for a few weeks before the night that I found out the truth about him. I was staying over at Sean's apartment one night and everything was seeming pretty normal. This was the first time I'd ever stayed the night at his apartment. Since I do tend to be a bit cautious, so regardless of his background, it wouldn't have mattered. I just don't really like staying over at people's homes until I get to know them a bit more. And I do have an at least three day rule. I'd been too busy before that to really stay over at his place. So that night when I was staying over, Sean's best friend was visiting for a bit and that's when the red flags started to show up. It did seem kind of weird to me to have a friend over when the girl you are seeing is staying over for the very first time. And it was revealed to me in private that Sean's friend was another ex gang member from a well known gang that is the enemy to the gang Sean had been a part of. Of course I can accept that people all have their backstories, but it was definitely just a weird thing to suddenly tell me out of the blue. Additionally, Sean had not even told me his friend would be at the apartment that day in the first place. And an additional note, Sean's friend did corroborate that he and Sean were both ex gang members. Then after Sean's friend had left, we were hanging out in his room and the guy had a literal arsenal in his room. I'm not exaggerating when I say that he had enough weaponry to arm a small militia. This included Things like grenades, bulletproof vests, and an AK47 or a gun similar to it. Just to name a few of the weapons that he had in his room. Needless to say, that was the second red flag of the day. That night we were in bed together and I can't remember what led him into revealing to me what he had said. In our conversation, he confessed to me that he was still in fact part of the gang, that he had told me that he said he was out of now. So of course I immediately am giving him this look like I'm sorry, what? Then he proceeded to go on and tell me that he was actually a hitman for the gang. And while he hadn't been active as a hitman as of lately, he would still accept hits if they were given to him. The entire time he said this, he just looked me dead in the eyes with the most deadpan, casual look, no feeling in his eyes, and he spoke like he was just talking about the weather. It was extremely creepy. And I knew right then that this guy was a straight up sociopath. I don't doubt that he was lying. I've met people who try to get clout by lying about things like this, and he was definitely not one of those types. I stayed the rest of the night and then left the next morning and I never talked to him again. I was definitely not going to keep dating someone like that. There's not really anything to the story after that. He never really tried to contact me after that. I'm sure that some people will probably wonder why I didn't just leave right after he told me he was a hitman. I didn't think it was a good idea to react strongly and immediately storm out of the apartment. I also didn't actually feel like he was a danger to me personally, but he definitely had the vibe of someone who had killed people. The reason why I recognized that kind of vibe is a whole nother story. He was always very polite to me, but regardless, there was no way I was going to keep dating him no matter how hot he was. So I'm a 13 year old male and I live somewhere in Alabama with my family. So my dog Boomer has some pretty good genes in his blood. So he's a good dog. He's a Doberman mixed with some sort of hound, so he has really good guard dog genes in him. And he's a hunting dog too. So Boomer had different sounds for different things. He has a whiny bark for when he needs something. He has this kinda deepish bark that's equivalent to hey, what's that? Then he has his aggressive bark when the things he's barking at gets too close. And then there's the ghost howl, a chilling howl when he finds something. So I'm inside reading some stories on Reddit when I hear Boomer switching between his wanny bark and his deep bark. I go outside to check on him because he might be stuck and maybe he sees a dog or something. So I go outside and Boomer's looking at the area behind him while pacing back and forth while looking at me in the field area. I get closer to Boomer and his ears go back and the fur on his lower back stands up and he starts barking aggressively when I stupidly get too close to find out what he's barking at. And when I get out of Boomer's chain length, a man lunges at me and out of reflex I jerk backwards and back to Boomer. Boomer barks some more, but the guy doesn't get the hint and he keeps coming at me. Boomer barks a final time before jumping up and biting his arm. The man screams in pain, alerting my grandma who looks out the kitchen window and sees everything that's happening. She calls the police while my grandpa comes outside with his gun ready. The man kicked my dog and then ran off into the night. The police never found the man, but he knows if he comes back he's getting bit and possibly shot. Who knows what would have happened if my dog wasn't a guard dog. And I want to mention to anyone who has a problem with Boomer being chained outside, I understand the frustration, but I'm only 13 and I don't really have a choice where Boomer stays. It's my grandpa's house and he decides it was around 2004 I decided I'd had enough of the bitter cold Rocky Mountain winters. I'd spent most of my time since I was around 16 listening almost exclusively to Jimmy Buffett music, except for small breaks to listen to things like Journey's Greatest Hits. He was pretty much my entire musical life. I would listen to him talk about these far off places and these great adventures and weird characters that he'd come across. I read his books, which talked about pretty much the same thing. I read interviews where, you guessed it, he talked about pretty much the same thing. So my young 22 year old brain was filled with these ideas that adventure was out there waiting for me, that all I had to do was go and find it. Why was I rotting away in A frozen hell when there was so much more to see in more tropical climates. And it is this thinking that led me to pack everything I own and stick my thumb out of the interstate. I was headed for Mobile, Alabama, which is Jimmy's hometown. Then I headed for Forda, where most of his songs are based. Then, well, the possibilities seemed endless. Maybe find work on a boat in exchange for passage to some place like Jamaica. You can go ahead and laugh at me, it's fine. It's been around 17 years, so wisdom and life experience has allowed me to see clearly how stupid I was. For all of this. I can take the ribbing. I've been getting grief over it for the better part of two decades. More on that later. My journey took me through Texas and Arkansas. There are many funny stories along this journey, like the time I was picked up in the desert by an old guy named Buddy in a hippie van. However, these stories are not the focus here because they aren't creepy and are not the focus. Along the way I also passed through Falk, Arkansas and learned about the Falk monster. Fascinating little bit of folklore. There's a fairly detailed Wikipedia article on the subject if you're interested. So anyway, my journey took me down to South Louisiana in Interstate 10. When you head down the section of highway between Lafayette and Baton Rouge, you have to pass over the Atchafalaya Basin, which means crossing over 18 miles of swampland via bridge. According to Wikipedia, this bridge is the third longest in the US, second longest in the United States interstate system, and the 14th longest in the world. That's a lot of bridge and the shoulder virtually non existent from what I've been told. Police are quick to nab anyone foolish enough to try crossing this bridge on foot, so I was stuck for hours on the Lafayette side of the bridge, attempting to thumb a ride across. Eventually I was successful and this is where things take an unsettling turn. Of course a white van pulled up. When the door opened, there was no one in the vehicle but an old man. He looked to be in his late 60s or early 70s, quite obese and wearing nothing but a pair of shorts. I climbed in and thanked him for stopping as we took off. When the Sun Goes down by Kenny Chesney and Uncle Cracker was playing on the radio. Due to the events that followed, I have forever lost any liking I had for that song. We were headed across this massive bridge with nowhere to stop and nowhere for me to go. The man started looking at me like a dog might look at a particularly meaty bone it was making me uneasy already. Hey, boy, he said in a thick Cajun accent. You got a big dick. Excuse me? I asked. I looked back at him, then out the window of the moving vehicle. No escape round. I'll bet it's pretty big, he said, smiling at me. I really don't want to discuss this, I said. Nothing but guardrail on the right and swampland below. That jumping out would be deadly. I'd sure like to see it, he said. No, I don't think so, I replied. What I was thinking was, you can wish in one hand and crap in the other and see which one fills up first. Undeterred, the man went on, I'd like to take you into the swamp. Oh hell, if I'd once thought that this situation couldn't get any worse, I would have been so, so incredibly mistaken. No, I don't think so, I repeated. Oh, come on, boy, he insisted. It'll only take about 30 minutes. Please understand that I'm making his English clearer for those reading. But it was thick Cajun. As I said before, it was more like it only take about 30 minute, which made it way, way creepier. At this point the man had asked to see my genitals and had expressed his desire to take me into the swamps. I couldn't help but wonder if he was even going to give me a choice, or if he was just going to take me there by force. If he did, I would be virtually helpless. I wasn't from there. I didn't know the area. I certainly didn't know the layout of the swamps. I would have been at his mercy for him to do with me as he pleased, and whatever it was that he was pleased with took a lot of forms in my mind. Would he take me somewhere and violate me and then feed me to the alligators? Would he hold me prisoner and torture me before killing me and feeding me to the alligators? Or would he just kill me immediately and then feed me to the alligators? For some reason, every single scenario involved the alligators. I don't want to go into the swamp with you. No, I said as firmly as my overwhelming fear would allow. As I'm here today writing this, it goes without saying that I didn't end up as gator bait. He didn't take me forcefully into the swamps. He didn't do anything to me physically. Psychologically, however, his terrifying comments were torture as the bridge went on and on and on for what seemed like forever. When we finally reached the other side and he let me out, I thanked him for the ride as politely as I could manage. When he pulled away, I could have fallen down and kissed the ground. I was safe. I was not dead. My journey continued for several days until I ultimately ended up in Bay St. Louis, Mississippi. There was another incident before I got there where I was picked up in Walker, Louisiana by a man who wasn't so creepy as he was potentially dangerous. By the time I ran into him, I was physically exhausted and dirty and hadn't had decent rest in days. When he and his wife offered to let me stay in their guest room for the night, I was so grateful to not have to sleep in the woods or in a ditch along the side of the road or in the bag booth of some diner that I took them up on it. Desperation and exhaustion will cloud a person's thinking. As we pulled away, he said in a genuinely friendly tone that I was welcome at his home and that he wasn't dangerous. I genuinely believed him until he pulled out a gun from between the seats and then warned me that I better not be dangerous either. Oh boy. Why did I still go with them? Exhaustion and desperation, like I said. So I'm in the guest room of this trailer in a comfortable bed for the first time and I'm pretty sure it was a couple of weeks. I'm relaxing there when his sister comes over. I don't see them being in a bedroom, but I hear them in the living room. She's suicidal and wanting to die. That's all. She keeps talking about wanting to die and wanting to kill herself. Finally, I hear the man get up and snap. Do you want to die? He screams and he says it again. Then I hear a gunshot. Oh my God. There are several seconds there where I'm again terrified of what's about to happen to me. This man just shot his sister and I'm here in the house with him. I'm a potential witness. I look up at the window, wondering if I can fit through it and escape. I cannot. Then I hear her speak up. You shot a hole in the ceiling. So apparently he hadn't actually shot his sister. He was just a trigger happy lunatic who had just shot a round into the ceiling to emphasize his frustration. To be fair, they were actually very nice people. After the commotion, I ended up staying overnight. Anyway, call me stupid if you like. I was really that tired. And anyways, his wife took me back to the interstate in the morning. We had a nice conversation along the way. Wouldn't stay there again, ever. One star rating. But my hosts were very polite. When I got to Bay, St. Louis, Mississippi. I ended up getting picked up by a lady who lived in Mobile, Alabama who ended up taking me in, and she's my foster mother to this day. I love her to death. This horrific trip ended with me finding a new life and a new family. So there's silver lining to every dark cloud, I suppose. Her husband, who's my foster father, has never stopped giving me grief about any of this in almost 20 years. He's never tired of it. Did I learn anything from this? Well, if you're asking if I learned to not hitchhike, no. I went on several more journeys over the years before I finally decided that I'd had enough. Enough of the adventure. Someone will surely think I'm stupid for this. Young people tend to be stupid, so there's no argument there. If you need any further proof of this, watch MTV's coverage of spring break sometime. Watch how dumb those young people act as they party on the beach. As a word of advice to those who might be considering hitchhiking, just don't. You can meet a lot of really interesting people, you can have a lot of positive experiences, but you can also end up getting picked up by a total maniac. And you might not be as lucky as I was. I was about 8 or 9 and lived in a small town in Alabama where everyone knows everyone. We lived in a subdivision of duplexes. The front of the neighborhood had a small rent office with the tenants mailboxes outside on the wall. My favorite task was going to get the mail. This particular day my sister, around five or six, asked to go with me. Our duplex was right behind the office up at the top of a grassy hill. The backside of our home had faced the office. So my sister and I get to the mailbox and as I'm removing the mail, a white middle aged couple pulled up to the front of the building. This is relevant and I'm going to explain this. Being Alabama in the 80s, our neighborhood was all black. The white people lived on the other side of the railroad tracks. I knew a lot of them as most families were here for generations, but I had never seen this couple before. The woman on the passenger side rolled down her window and then said, excuse me, can we ask y'all a question? We need directions. I knew about stranger danger so I had planned to just ignore them. My sister was starting to walk to the car window as my back was partially turned. Locking the mailbox. I ran and grabbed her hand and said to run to the house. She had tried to ask why as the woman continued calling us to her car. I raised my voice and said to get up the hill now. She started running up the hill. I turned to follow when the driver, who was a male, opened his door and in an angry voice then said, hey, bring your little asses here now. At this point, my sister was up the hill and I started running up the hill too. When I got to the top, I saw that the driver was standing a few feet from the bottom of the hill. I just started laughing and mocking him, telling him that I beat him, that he was too slow. I even stuck my tongue out at him. He turned and walked back to his car. My mother wasn't home at the time. I don't even remember where she was. I just went into the house and stupidly never mentioned this incident until I was much older. I was around 15 or 16 when I remembered and understood the actual danger that I had been in. My mother was shaking when I finally told her about it.