If you ever want to appreciate your life, I would encourage everyone to be a court reporter. I always feel super lucky after hearing some stories. Let me tell you, there are some pretty unlucky people out there.
That being said, I'm probably the most paranoid person out there. Except for my mom. She wins, but I'm a close second. I don't think I ever used to be. I blame the stories I hear at work. I know that absolutely anything can happen to anyone, so I will fully expect the worst out of every situation. Add that to my pregnancy hormones and you've got a terrified girl.
I realize that's Charles Manson, but I PROMISE today I had a little encounter with his relative because he looked EXACTLY like him. If you happen to see him, whatever you do, don't smile at him. Bad idea.
I work downtown lots, and to work downtown, you have to pay for stupid parking. I never have change. Today I decided to park in the Bay parking lot. I don't think I'm allowed to do that, but I did. Anyway, I park my truck, get my enormous work bag out, and start walking to the lawyer's office.
I'm not even out of the parking lot yet when this old man (as pictured above) starts talking to me about how he's been tracking my cellphone and that he's not impressed with me at all. I just smiled at him thinking that he would leave me alone, but nope. That was probably the worst thing I could have done.
Crazy face over here starts following me and yelling at me. All I could think about was getting to a place where there was people around because I couldn't see a person in sight, and after hearing these scary stories at work, I didn't want to be anywhere near this guy. I start booking it to the provincial building because there's a couple people outside. I even got super close to getting ran over when I crossed the street. I just wanted to get away from crazy face.
As I'm basically running to get away from this man, he stays right on my heels the entire time. His conversation to me goes a little bit like this. "You're a whore. Stop pretending to be my wife. You are an f-ing whore. Get out of my life. I'm going to call the f-ing police on you. eff eff eff."
Thank goodness for the good people in this world. Some girl starts yelling at him to leave me alone or she would call the cops on him. I don't know why I didn't think of telling him that. I was too terrified. I didn't say a single word to him. I think she kind of scared him because he slowed down a bit and stopped following me close. Then a car who had been kind of watching stopped and made sure I was okay once I got to work. As I start bawling uncontrollably, I tell him I'm fine.
I didn't even say thank you to either of those people, and now I feel bad. I'm sorry, I was just so scared! I walk into work, and I can't stop crying. I don't cry in front of people. Ever. Freakin' pregancy hormones. I am bawling, and I can't stop. So embarassing!
Moral of the story, don't do drugs, kids. I'm a hundered percent sure that's what was wrong with him. And I also don't think that would have ever bothered me so much, but I can't control my hormones. Not my fault.