Spencer's comment from my latest post reminded me of this awkward moment in high school.
I was in PALS, this mentor program at our high school. Every year, we had a kidnap where we kidnapped the new people in the program and took them out to breakfast. I gave my friend Devin rides to our schools and stuff, so I had agreed to pick him up that morning so we could go pick up our people together. I normally picked him up from school, so he had to tell me his address.
Well, when I'm driving in the dark at 5 in the morning, my night vision isn't very good. What I thought was Claremont Street turned out to be Canemont Street. So . .. I knocked on the door of the appropriately numbered house and waited. And waited. I heard a dog bark. Devin didn't have a dog. Then I heard a deep man's voice tell the dog to shut up. Devin doesn't have a deep man voice. This man opened the door. He was white. Devin was hispanic. Great. So . ..what did I do? Basically, after stupidly asking if Devin lived here, I apologized profusely and left the poor man to get back to his sleep.
Maybe I should resign from offering rides to any of my friends of the male variety from now on. It never turns out very good, it seems.
1 comment:
Ha ha. You never told me that story. At least I don't remember it. Remember when we knocked on the wrong door looking for Mrs. MacAfee one Christmas when we were intending to sing to her. We knew it wasn't her house when a white person answered the door, but we stupidly (not knowing what else to do) asked if Mrs. MacAfee was there.
Post a Comment