Things That Don’t Happen At The Dip

I’m often reminded why I came to Serendipity Park. Things happen sometimes that make me realize the world can be a real a-hole. (Pardon the harsh language. I get passionate about stuff.) I’m also reminded of why I try not to leave my house too much.

Last night I stopped by a liquor store to pick up some fruit and carrots, but I guess they were out, so I bought a bottle of whiskey. They had an ATM and I needed to grab some cash for my big night, which was basically going over to see some friends. I knew they’d be disappointed about the no fruit thing, but I was hoping the bottle would kill that pain.

Ok so now I’m at the ATM, minding my own business, maybe kicking it a little because I always forget my pin and blame the robot, just stuff I do. This is when the band of giant, smashed to the gills skinheads came through the door and fortunately, they were looking for trouble. (I say “fortunately” because I am sarcastic and that’s also stuff I do.)

I could now hear the largest one speaking to the kindly Indian gentlemen behind the counter. I won’t go into the details of what he said, but basically it was something about how he’s only ever had sex with a white woman and that the shop owners could ask anyone to verify that he was telling the truth. And fortunately (sarcasm again), he chose me to deliver testimony on his behalf.

Monstrous Drunk Skinhead: Ask the guy at the ATM. He’ll tell you.

Mayo: Uh oh.

MDS: Hey. You. At the ATM.

Mayo: (Ignoring… ignoring… praying…)

MDS: Hey! You at the ATM!

Mayo: Me? (I knew he was talking to me, but the mind game was now afoot.)

MDS: Yeah. Come here.

Mayo: No.

So this is one of those moments in life where everything freeze-frames and a voiceover comes in to explain why you should have done something else. Then it unfreezes and you hear…

MDS:  I said come here, bitch!

This is when the training kicks in. I did a quick assessment of the situation, realized I was screwed and began to plan my next move, which was something along the lines of explaining to the shop keepers that everything this man was saying is 100% fact. I would even be willing to swear on a Bible and offer to run out and get one. And then, opportunity strikes. This was the moment they would realize they weren’t dealing with your average, ordinary citizen. This would be the day they walked into the wrong store, at the wrong time and picked the wrong huckleberry.

MDS’s drunk buddy to MDS: Hey (something something)

For a split second, MSD was distracted and no longer had his full focus on me. If I was going to act, it had to be now. I looked around to see what was close by. Something I could pick up and wield with speed and precision. If only I had some duct tape and a bungee cord I could at least fashion some nun-chucks with a couple of champagne bottles, but I had nothing but my fists of fury. And because those wouldn’t do, I ran away. I am nobody’s bitch.

I had a long drive to reflect on it and by the time I reached my friends, the story involved twelve skinheads, a sword, a couple of Matrix-like bullet dodges and me likely receiving the key to the city, along with free liquor for life from the endlessly appreciative shop keepers that I hope are still alive.

So back to my original point. I’m sure I had one. Let me scroll back. Please hold. I really need to get some music on here for when I do this. Just please be patient.

Ok I’m back. So yeah. It’s life’s little moments like these that remind me of why I came to the dip. No one has ever called me a bitch, and I really like that. I’ve never found myself in a situation here where I thought, “I’m going to die.” It’s just a feeling I enjoy.

If you don’t already know this, Serendipity Park is the 6-time winner for AANR’s friendliest park award. Whenever I see new people arrive it’s always the first and last thing they talk about. Honestly, it renewed my faith in the goodness of people. I had become cynical for awhile and much of it has to do with stories like the one I just told. The dip is an escape from that.

I should also mention this story happened hundreds of miles away. That’s the other thing. The area surrounding Serendipity is gorgeous, the people are friendly, there are a ton of things to do and the likelihood of you being called a bitch is low. If you hate being called a bitch while on vacation, the dip is where it’s at.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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6 responses to “Things That Don’t Happen At The Dip

  1. Stuart was kind enough to shelter me for seven weeks in January and February…and he called me a bitch MANY TIMES…okay, he didn’t ACTUALLY vocalize the words…but whenever I said something STUPID (which is often), I could see the words mirrored in his eyes…

  2. I have also often been the recipient of unwanted attention from muscled morons. I’m pretty sure the steroid-infused reptile brain can smell extraordinary intelligence and they become enraged by it. Awesome post!

  3. I just WISH I had been there with ya Clay…as Stuey can attest, I am a shrinking wallflower and a coward and quick to run away when confronted…

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