Tales from the Whipped

Tales from the Whipped

It's 8:30 p.m. on a gloomy Sunday night. The wind outside howls in fury, lashing leaves and debris against bolted metal doors. Within the murky dark hallways of the psychology laboratory basement, a lone ceiling light flickers on and off, sputtering it's last gasps of illumination. In the distance, the bathroom door is outlined in a eerie, yellow glow.

The animated silhouette of a small girl stands out in clear contrast against the still, stark background. Her blood red waist sash gently trails behind her as she walks briskly towards her laboratory. Suddenly, a deep noise rumbles nearby, followed by the heavy clank of metal chains. She speeds up, heels clicking sharply against the cold linoleum floor. Again, the same metallic rasping. This time... closer.

She reaches her lab, hands shaking as she clumsily fumbles through her keys. She finds the right one, quickly turning the lock and slipping inside, yanking the door shut abruptly behind her. She flicks on the lights and bolts towards the nearest computer. Fingers trembling, she somehow manages to type out the appropriate URL and....




starts blogging.

Okay, that may have been a little bit overdramatic, but it seriously felt like I was living out a cheesy horror film. You know, with those scenes where a girl is alone in the dark basement of some freaky old building, and you as a viewer are screaming in your head, "DON'T OPEN THAT DOOR, YOU STUPID WOMAN! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING IN THAT FREAKY ASS BUILDING ALL ALONE AT NIGHT ANYWAY??"

Well, I'll tell you what I was doing there. I spent most of my lovely Sunday afternoon at a community center in an ethnic enclave a few cities over, conducting behavioral assessments on underprivileged families. Through our study we hope to bridge the cultural gap between immigrant parents and their American-born children, thus facilitating communication, mediating conflicts caused by misunderstanding, and avoiding potential child abuse.
Who am I kidding. Actually, I just entertained the kids as their parents were filling out lengthy questionnaires. I'll be honest; I have NO idea how to handle kids. I have absolutely no grasp on their developmental stage or comprehension abilities. This is blatantly evident as I carefully explained the complete rules of UNO to a 4-year old (to which he responded by promptly plopping down a RED 9 on top of a GREEN DRAW 2, without drawing 2 of course), or as I baby-talked to a 10-year old while explaining how to play JANGA (to which she completely ignored me and stacked up the wooden blocks perfectly, then offered to let me start first *deeply humbled*). So then I decided to resort to being a pushover, which all the kids gladly took advantage of. After the 10th sprinting piggyback around the periphery of the entire office building and spinning around 5 times, I meekly asked the little girl screaming in delight on my back, "Wow, aren't you're feeling a little dizzy or tired?"
"NO!! AGAIN! AGAIN!! FASTER!!"
"okay... T-T"



Anyway, we didn't get back to lab until like 8 pm, and my sign-up time for classes was 8:30. As I am a cheap, penniless undergrad, I do not have my own stable internet at home. Knowing how you practically need T3 to get into those impacted upper division courses at a large, public institution such as my own, there was no way I could risk not getting those last courses I need to graduate. Therefore, I opted to stay in lab to finish signing up for classes before heading home. What a huge mistake for a wimp like me. Luckily, I finished around 8:35 and headed home, pepper spray firmly clenched in one hand (yes, you potential rapists out there; girls DO arm themselves with nasty maces, rape horns, and cattle prods, so think twice before trying anything!!).

While walking past a particularly shaded area next to a small street, a car suddenly stops and I hear a man's voice, "Excuse me miss!" I literally jumped, turned, and aimed my weapon directly at his open window. Feeling silly, I lowered it and cautiously backed away a few feet.
"Yes??" I shout
"Do you know where 1140 _________ Street is?"
"Uhm, no. What kind of building is it? An apartment, hospital, or school?"
"Uh... I don't know.. Where is 1140?"
"I don't know"
"I'm trying to find 1140, so you don't know where that is?"
"No, sorry." (walks away)

I didn't think too much of it, but I was glad to be home. Curiously, I've never heard of that street number although I live on that street. After looking it up on various internet map searches, I realized that the street numbers end at 1099. And now that I think about it, who doesn't know what kind of building they are going to? I mean, was he going to visit a friend, or was he looking for a specific department? My street is only like 3 blocks long... and half of it is a "botanical garden" (aka a plot of land with ghetto, sparse tufts of random weeds)!

This reminds me of the time some random man tried to kidnap me (i think?) while I was shopping in an outdoor mall as a freshman. Just because I look young doesn't mean I'm stupid!! gullible perhaps, but I have decent common sense! Plus my mommy gave me an illustrated book entitled, "How to Say No" when I was young. (Excerpt: A man in an unmarked white van comes up to you with ice cream and says, "how would you like to come to my house to play with some puppies?" You say, "NO!" and run away)

The End.