So, last night I’m getting ready to have my niece come stay with me a few days. She’s used to a little mess on my part, so it wasn’t a deep clean. Just a “no need to call child protective services, nothing to see here” kind of clean. And since I got home late from work, it wasn’t until after 11:00 that I had the garbage ready to go out. I grabbed my coat and keys, and decided that I’d check my mail while I was out.
It’s a gauge of how completely quiet my neighborhood is that I just kind of dawdled along. Pitched the trash. Looked up at the moon. Shuffled over to the mailboxes. Flipped through my mail as I wandered back.
Until I got about 8 feet from my door.
And a man started whistling.
I went on such a high state of alert that my heart was racing a mile a minute. That whistling was just like some kind of psycho signature move in a slasher movie. Whistling Willie, who does a few bars of In the Mood before he swoops in and grabs the dimwit who takes her garbage out in the middle of the night. And of course, if you’re in the slasher flick, you have no idea if you’re the woman who dies in the first five minutes of the movie, and whose body is found in a field next to police headquarters, leading Tommy Lee Jones or Denzel Washington to hunt down Whistling Willie with a vengeance. Or if you’re the girl who is tied up in Willie's secret basement room when Tommy Lee or Denzel busts in at the last minute to save you.
Actually, I didn’t want to be either of those girls. So I scuttled to my door, opened the lock at record pace, jumped in and slammed the door, so that I could lean on it panting.
Melodramatically panting, because I don’t actually live in a slasher flick. And Willie was probably just Friendly Willie, the neighborhood guy also taking out his trash, who wanted to warn the woman alone that she wasn’t alone and didn’t want to startle her. What could be less threatening than whistling? Nothing. If you aren’t a big ol’ drama queen who has watched waaaay too many episodes of SVU.
On the other hand. I don’t think I’ll be taking out my trash late at night again any time soon. I’d hate to end up in that field next to the police station.
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2 comments:
LOL - Poor Whistling Willie never catchesa break - that does bring up one question though - how do we know it wasn't a woman whistling? I know we "hear" the difference intuitively - but really how?
Isn't that weird? There was absolutely no doubt in my mind that it was a man. I'm a whistler myself, so it's not like I automatically think it's threatening. But, seriously. I nearly jumped right out of my skin.
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