Jamin was texting me. He wanted to know where I was. I guess I underestimated his level of threshold for rising panic.
Oh wait. That was just hunger.
So I quickly replied that I was following a perfect stranger into the parking lot to his kidnapper van, in the name of a good deal.
Jamin: “WHAT?! TACOS!!”
But let me back up. Because tacos and kidnapper vans?
Yes. Tacos. And kidnapper vans.
I am what one would call the overcautious, paranoid parent.
I’m a little frayed on the edges, like an insufferable, overflowing teacup in an earthquake. Can I fill the teacup with something unexpected, like a pomegranate martini? It’s my metaphor.
I’m nervous, but I’m also full of surprises.
Maybe just full of it.
I do it to myself. I’m a dead ringer for an enneagram 4, and my coping mechanism is to escape into a good book. Or painting. Or basically creating my own little world in any way in which design can be applied. Our therapist friend told me the other day, “I’m trying to make sense of a chaotic world.”
No truer words have ever been spoken to my soul.
It also doesn’t help that I have a ridiculous addiction to true crime podcasts.
I love a good story in the form of murder mysteries and unsolved stories and decades-old crimes. People I barely know in various snippets of life ask if I’ve seen the latest Dateline. We bond over theories and updates on if they’ve caught the murderer yet. I was raised on Christopher Pike and Mary Higgins Clark. I’ve never felt so gratified when right after reading Michelle McNamara’s book, they caught the actual guy.
See me, watching the press conference with explosions of delight and involuntary updates to a less-than-thrilled-Jamin.
I’m a lot. I assure you I have my charms, too.
At least that’s what I keep telling myself.
Someone who doesn’t ‘get’ me, asked me why I would subject myself to such ‘negative reading material’. They may as well have asked me why I let my dogs inside my house. For the record, she’s a cat person, and doesn’t even own one. She was also the mean girl in high school. I rest my case.
But back to the paranoid parental department. Because I’m worst case scenario girl, I don’t know if someone is trying to kill me when they knock on the door of my house. So I crab crawl like a ninja until I know who it is. I’m afraid of rogue hairnets. I’ve taken a self-defense course, I’ve tried tirelessly to teach my children about “stranger danger” and “tricky people”. I’ve given them scenarios on real life temptations such as, “Don’t follow the man with the candy” and “There aren’t puppies in there”, and avoid the sketchy Who’s the Boss van with the words “Free hugs” painted on the side.
One spring our dogs ran away for a hot second, and two hours later, I was the potential kidnapper desperately driving around our neighborhood with my crying children, asking anyone if they’d seen them. The worst part was, I was sporting a husky voice on week three of a horrible cold. So I was the perp pulling up with a slow crawl to kids playing in their yard to whisper in a strangled voice if they’d seen our dogs.
Desperate times. No one died.
So fast forward to a regular day of the week. Jamin and I were at a slightly overrated local spot {kind of like a mall} for small shops and a smattering of restaurants. We wanted to catch a quick lunch at one of our fave taco spots. I went for a quick potty break since the restroom was right around the corner, because I have the bladder of a two year old, all while he placed the order. An older gentleman who was passing my opposite direction stopped me.
He looked perfectly nice.
Ted Bundy also looked perfectly nice, my inner voice told me.
“Hey can I ask you a question?” he began.
“Sure,” I responded a little surprised that he had a question for me. Make it quick, I thought. Because Tacos.
“What do you think of this place? For a store?”
He seemed like a legitimate business guy. Tall, slim and in his 60’s, it seemed like a genuine enough question. He had a no nonsense, grandpa-from-Boca-Raton vibe about him.
So I gave him a genuine enough answer. “It’s sufficient.” But really, no one should ask me anything because I prefer to stay at home and make things pretty. But every time I’m here, no one is here. It’s dead…
“But also kind of overrated,” I added, looking around.
At this point, I saw fire ignite in his eyes. “THAT’s what I told my real estate agent, but she’s not listening!” he exclaimed. Then he extended a hand, “I’m Dave.” {names have been changed to protect the stranger.}
I extended mine to return the shake, cautiously. Kind of wondering if this is where he breaks out the chloroform, and then realized there would be too many witnesses. He dove into a story about rugs and how he’s opening a shop. Suddenly his teeth were glittering and I think I blacked out briefly because there were flying rugs circling around his head. I believe that a lack of rugs is what’s wrong with under-designed spaces all in the name of saving a buck, and basically all of America. If a space needs anything, and if America can be saved… it’s with a good rug. Layered rugs. Indoor and outdoor rugs. Colorful rugs. Neutral rugs.
See Bubba Gump, but rugs.
And before I could stop myself, I told him I was a designer, because blabbering idiot. The voice told me to be quiet, but sources and exciting subject matter… So I told that inner voice, the one that keeps you safe, to shut up.
Then he did the awkward thing and asked if I would step outside to see his rugs.
Wait. Cue record screech. Begin creepy circus murder music. WHAT?!
Yep. A perfectly nice gentleman who gave me his full name and number was so excited to meet a designer in the very place he was thinking of opening a shop, wanted me to go into a fully-crowded, fully-lit, middle-of-the-day parking lot, and view his kidnapper van full of rugs.
“I’m sorry. My husband is waiting for me over there,” I made sure to tell him. Because Jamin was waiting on me beyond the restaurant wall, and I was pretty sure he would absolutely sound the alarm if I wasn’t back in five.
Okay. Probably like thirty. Which was ample enough time to murder my face. And my tacos would get cold.
This is how the girl dies in the beginning of every CSI, my inner voice said.
“It will only take a second. You’d be doing me a huge favor. I love working with designers, and I have all kinds of rugs you’d love to see…” He kept going, to the point where he dropped a few beloved brand names, and said they were hand woven by artisans in Kazakistan or somewhere else that sounded important, and I was so curious. I just couldn’t help myself.
“You’re not going to kidnap me, are you?” I asked. I figured if he wanted to murder me or sell, he may as well be honest about it.
Pause.
Yes. I know the line has been drawn in the sand here. This is the part where you either get ragey at me for being an total moron, or you’re wanting to see what’s in the van, too.
Un-pause.
I found myself inching closer to the door, but also, I could hear Oprah saying, never let them take you to a second location. But also, This is not how I die because it would be way too idiotic.
The irony.
He laughed. “I promise, I’m not going to hurt you.”
I took a step closer to the door. Isn’t that what they say before they hurt you?
“You’re not going to taser me and throw me in your van and drive away?” And then, “You’re not a serial killer?”
I guess at this point, I figured I could disarm him with humor and also more complete honesty. I don’t think victims ever ask if the person is a psychopath first.
Oh wait. We don’t know because they’re NEVER SEEN AGAIN. At least not until a boy scout camping trip with a thunderstorm in the beginning of A MOVIE ABOUT MY TOTAL WASTE OF A LIFE. So very main character syndrome of me.
Suddenly, I was the kid with the sailboat, willingly climbing into the sewer with the clown, except this time, it’s RUGS.
ALL FOR A GOOD DESIGN DEAL WITH A POTENTIAL GRANDPA SERIAL KILLER FROM BOCA RATON.
I could see the headlines now: Franklin Woman Disappears, Husband Now Suspect.
Poor Jamin. All he wanted was tacos.
What does one do in the name of a good source, who is promising not to kill me and kindly chuckling at my paranoia but also might be my ticket straight into the great afterlife?
Will there be rugs there?
Jamin was texting me. He wanted to know where I was. I guess I underestimated his level of threshold for rising panic.
Oh wait. That was just hunger.
So I quickly replied that I was following a perfect stranger into the parking lot to his kidnapper van in the name of a good deal.
Jamin: “WHAT?! TACOS!!”
I realized my potential killer knew way too much about rugs and prices and brands to be a killer. They’re just not that dedicated to their research.
Unless he’s a serial killer who targets designers… the voice said. I mean, look at BTK. He was an ADT security system guy. I hate that I know that.
I felt a little more at ease when we arrived outside, because the parking lot contained other people, but as we inched up to his van, I realized there could be a crew of terrorist kidnappers inside, waiting to grab me. Because apparently I’m just that important.
I had my cell phone out and my car keys in between my fingers and I was pretty sure I could take him, taser or no. I made it very clear that just in case things went down, everyone would see this.
Sweep the leg, the voice said.
When he opened up the van, I stood back cautiously. But then realized my instincts about the grandpa-from-boca-raton-salesman were actually dead on, despite my conflicted voice of paranoia. Much to my delight, that it was packed full of lusciously beautiful rugs, and even if he wanted to shove my dead corpse into said kidnapper van, people would be staring at him and there was definitely no room. Because rugs.
It’s a good thing he wasn’t a psychotic murderer, because the loss of a great source for rugs would be the real tragedy here. Am I right?!
So that’s my version of the puppy. Or candy. Or whatever you want to call the lure for the clown in the drainage pipe. And I became the stereotypical moron who followed a would-be kidnapper to the parking lot all in the name of nice quality and a good deal.
Bless.
And also, full credit to me. I actually got what I wanted.
So kids, do as I say, not as I do.
And if you’re a psychotic narcissist who wishes me dead, I just gave you notes on how to do it. You’re welcome.
Stranger danger.
Erica M says
You. Are. Hilarious!! š
What did you purchase?
ashley @ the handmade home says
Haha! I actually didn’t… I think he just wanted to show me he was legit, and I wasn’t in the market for a rug in that moment. We traded info so that I can hook clients up later. ;}
Anna says
I freaking love this. Iām so glad Iām not the only one who thinks this way and Iām also glad you followed the serial killer but didnāt die! š
Lesa D. says
Too funny. We think alike. What we won’t do for a deal.
ashley @ the handmade home says
Right?! I mean, I wasn’t going to let it pass me by! ;}
Meryll says
Had he been a serial killer, those rugs would have come in handy to wrap up your body and dispose of it – maybe at a Goodwill drop-off site! š
Beth Miller says
I am dying! You had to have been at The Factory for Mojo’s Tacos!!! And they don’t need another overpriced rug store in there! Does he have a legit business? I’m actually in the market for a large rug!
Mrs. B says
Oh my goodness you are a funny lady! Happy to hear you lived to tell more of your humorous, real-life events.
Emily Neal says
That was great! I could relate on so many levels! ššš
Karen Rock says
š š… because pee!!
Lisa says
Youāre a great designer but I really think youāve missed your true calling. Youād make a fortune doing stand up comedy. Thanks for making me giggle! š¤£
ashley @ the handmade home says
HAHA! Thanks Lisa. You’re too sweet.
Janice Wright says
WOW INSPIRATION OVERLOAD! You had me at the Singing in the Rain picture over the blue piano! SITR is one our our family favorites. My kids (ages 14, 12, 11, 10 & 4) regularly act our “Moses Supposes” and “Make ’em Laugh!” -sometimes painfully! We’re planning on moving this summer and I may actually have some money to spend decorating our fixer upper (perviously we put off home projects until its time to sell!). That poster is definitely going on my shopping list! And if i can convince my husband to actually take on the trouble of moving a real piano into our home, i am defiantly going to paint it! But maybe green as that is my favorite color. I never even thought of painting a piano. Usually used pianos are super ugly. Thanks for sharing! Love your site!
ashley @ the handmade home says
Awesome! If you do it, be sure to send a pic! I would love to see. Thanks for the sweet message! ;}