Most Likely to be Kidnapped

Although not an actual superlative in high school - I certainly would have been the winner of the category. Growing up I had little worry of being kidnapped, it wasn't that we lived in an overly safe area where things like that never happened (although now that I think about it I can't recall any kidnappings), it was more that I grew up hearing, "we don't have to worry about Kara getting kidnapped, they will return her in under an hour." Don't worry this came from my brother not my parents. I was a gregarious kid. My parents, bless their hearts, tried to create games to get me to be quiet, a favorite being "Who can be Quiet for the Longest" - spoiler alert - not me. So my brother, rightfully so, assumed that should I be kidnapped, I wouldn't shut up and eventually they'd be begging my family to take me back. He was kind of a jerk, but I digress.

I had a natural ability to talk about anything and everything and eventually I learned that it was quite an asset. Put me at a Girl Scout table in front of Publix and I could sellout a table of cookies in under 2 hours. The other girls would huddle behind the table weakly calling out "Cookies for sale...." Not me. I was like a character in Troop Beverly Hills, only without the costumes and dancing, as soon as my prey stepped onto the curb I was there with the "Excuse me sir, but wouldn't you like to support our troop? We just so badly want to go camping this year." I'd bat my big green eyes, flash those pearly whites, and work my freckled little face like the 8-year old con artist I was. It was then my parents learned that the used car salesman gene ran strong in this one. No one stood a chance. Before they knew it I was creating businesses in our front yard. Turns out a sucker IS born every minute and my neighborhood was full of them. Before long everyone in our neighbor owned their very own, original hand painted rock - naturally done in watercolors, as well as a jar of homemade cement (secret ingredient Elmer's glue), and boxes of used pens (where I got these boxes of pens is still a mystery to all involved). Once I started talking about opening my own dog grooming business (I was 10) my parents put the kibosh on my career in sales and stopped letting me go door to door selling my wears (get your minds out of the gutter- I was in grade school!).

As I got older, I realized that my snake oil charm wasn't just about my ability to talk to anyone, it was that I was approachable. Those wholesome Midwestern looks and Florida sunshine smile, made me seem trustworthy, friendly, and easy to talk to. When I moved to NYC, I started to notice that I was the first to be asked for direction in a crowd - little old ladies and tourists would hone in on me like a heat seeking missile and pull me aside to ask where the Olive Garden was located and which bus to take to get there. Pretty soon cabbies and bus drivers were sharing their life stories with me. My friends found this incredibly distressing and I would get lecture upon lecture, about "how you aren't supposed to talk to the bus drivers!" and "this is how people get kidnapped in cabs!" 

But the thing was, I wasn't talking to the strangers, the strangers were talking to me. It would start with an innocent smile and "How are you doing today? You stop at Delancey, right?" And then next thing I knew, they were insisting I sit up front and telling me about how Aunt Theresa was cheating on Uncle Derrick with his chemo doctor and the whole family didn't know what to do about it. Let me just tell you, Uncle Derrick deserved better than that hussy. See, not my fault. I was just being polite - I was raised in the South and have Midwestern roots - my people are not capable of not greeting someone warmly. (Unless it is Aunt Theresa, that woman only deserves a lukewarm "Hello.") 

I quickly learned that in NYC, it didn't take much to get people talking. These people would definitely lose at the "Who can be Quiet for the Longest" game. They wanted to be heard and I was just the person to hear them. My 4.5 years in NYC are full of the dramas and sagas of anyone I came in contact with, so full that this blog was originally going to be a collection of the stories that people told me. Now that I think about it, it is actually a bit surprising, with the number of people who approached and confided in me, that I never was approached to join a cult...or to start one... Either way, I had discovered that I even though I wasn't doing the talking I was still able to sell these people something - even if it was just a piece of mind that they were being heard.  

Which bring us to today. Since I have been in DC/VA, I have actually had a marked downturn in stranger stories. They still happen, but I can go for weeks without anyone responding with more than a "And a good afternoon to you. It sure is a hot one today." I think that being in the South means that everyone is surrounded by people who will listen and therefore they don't need to save up their stories for the nice girl on the bus, they can just chat with everyone as they go through their day. Checking out at the grocery store can take 45 minutes, because the checker and the bagger are ready with a full commentary on the high school football team's chances to make state this year (not good). Occasionally I miss the old days and wonder what happened to Aunt Theresa and Uncle Derrick, but mostly I love that I no longer get yelled at for talking to bus drivers - I am with my people now and we are all most likely to get kidnapped.