My dad, when I was a kid, always drilled it into me to never talk to strangers. He may not have always been the best dad, but he would never want me to be hurt. I was spending the weekend with him, as I always did, when this happened.
A major highway from where I originally come from is called Sunrise Highway. This highway was exactly one block up from where my dad lived. Any adult would know where it was. You could look up the block and literally see it. This is relevant to the story.
I was on my way back to my dad’s house on my Razor scooter-I was only about 10 or 11, and that was the new cool thing at the time-from playing with some kids a few houses down the street. I was in right in front of my dad’s house on the sidewalk when a car-I think it was brown, though I couldn’t tell you what the make or model was-rolled to a stop on the street right next to me. This was years ago, but, if I remember correctly, the guy in it had dark hair, a mustache, and those big wire-framed glasses. I looked over at him and got the worst feeling ever. I was always intuitive, from a young age. But even aside from that, I wasn’t allowed to talk to strangers, and what he asked me, you wouldn’t really ask a kid. If you wanted to know where something was, you’d typically ask an adult. Not a small, lone girl on a fucking scooter. He leaned out the window and asked, “Do you know where Sunrise Highway is?”.
That was the last straw. Even though I did know where it was, that made it all the more apparent that this guy should have known as well, particularly given our close proximity to the highway in question. I didn’t even answer.
I pushed my scooter as fast as I could up the driveway, and the guy drove away in the opposite direction of the highway. My dad was already on his way outside. He saw the car stop in front of the house, and he got the same dreadful feeling I did. He said he knew something was wrong.
I moved far from where I was born years ago now. I’m grown and married with a baby of my own. I think of this story often as I watch my son play, and get a pit in my stomach thinking of anyone like that even breathing the same air as him.
So, creepy Sunrise Highway guy, let’s not meet again.
I blew out two of my tires merging off of Sunrise onto the service road. One of my coworkers mentioned that he had a friend that called the town where he hit the pothole and they reimbursed him for the damage. I'm gonna try it and call them. Cant hurt to try. I just need to know if i'm calling the town or state. Is Sunrise hwy town or state? Do you think I could potentially get reimbursed?
EDIT: Have determined it is a state road. Who could I contact regarding my specific request for reimbursement? Maybe someone like road maintenance?
My dad, when I was a kid, always drilled it into me to never talk to strangers. He may not have always been the best dad, but he would never want me to be hurt. I was spending the weekend with him, as I always did, when this happened.
A major highway from where I originally come from is called Sunrise Highway. This highway was exactly one block up from where my dad lived. Any adult would know where it was. You could look up the block and literally see it. This is relevant to the story.
I was on my way back to my dad’s house on my Razor scooter-I was only about 10 or 11, and that was the new cool thing at the time-from playing with some kids a few houses down the street. I was in right in front of my dad’s house on the sidewalk when a car-I think it was brown, though I couldn’t tell you what the make or model was-rolled to a stop on the street right next to me. This was years ago, but, if I remember correctly, the guy in it had dark hair, a mustache, and those big wire-framed glasses. I looked over at him and got the worst feeling ever. I was always intuitive, from a young age. But even aside from that, I wasn’t allowed to talk to strangers, and what he asked me, you wouldn’t really ask a kid. If you wanted to know where something was, you’d typically ask an adult. Not a small, lone girl on a fucking scooter. He leaned out the window and asked, “Do you know where Sunrise Highway is?”.
That was the last straw. Even though I did know where it was, that made it all the more apparent that this guy should have known as well, particularly given our close proximity to the highway in question. I didn’t even answer.
I pushed my scooter as fast as I could up the driveway, and the guy drove away in the opposite direction of the highway. My dad was already on his way outside. He saw the car stop in front of the house, and he got the same dreadful feeling I did. He said he knew something was wrong.
I moved far from where I was born years ago now. I’m grown and married with a baby of my own. I think of this story often as I watch my son play, and get a pit in my stomach thinking of anyone like that even breathing the same air as him.
So, creepy Sunrise Highway guy, let’s not meet again.
