The End Of Mr. Jam's Wild Ride

but befooore we begin
(Yet another interlude)
If we were writing this tale as a trilogy, this portion would be the Gy. Loosely translated from the original Syllablese, Gy means “last bit.” Here’s a tip from our friendly AardGeek: when reading Syllablese one should be careful to not confuse Gy with gy (translation: “lice beet”). Confusion is common and understandable; it’s also the state in which we maintain our primary residence. For the most part this works well for us: we’re empowered! to wear our best inscrutable smile despite the ubiquitous lice beet infestation.

If you’ve read the first two segments you might mentally leapfrog us during this interlude and conclude, “Must be those monkeys again.” Good guess! but no. Seriously, a million monkeys? What were you thinking? If you haven’t yet read Parts One and Deux, now would be a good time to do so (just scroll down or look around). If you finish them and find your eyes still able to hold focus and/or your neurons able to re-form from the mush that was your brain, read on.

(Yes another interlude for crying out loud)
Our astute reader will note we never actually quantified the monkey cadre in our previous post. To you we offer our most sincere Attaperson! and say, “Thanks for paying such close attention to our words. Perhaps now is a good time to seek professional help.” For our other reader, it’s time to close the browser before the stupor takes for the long overdue awaited conclusion of Mr. Jam’s Wild Ride.

One more thing: this part is different. If you’re expecting the usual light and fluffy, you might want to revise your expectations. Not to worry, it ain’t Murder Inc. or anything. It is however a true story, and therefore carries some of reality’s unpleasant baggage.

* * *

Fortunately there’s not much to tell about a dorm room overrun by cockroaches. If it had been a lice beet infestation, that’d be a different story (Mmmm, lice beets), but it wasn’t. Besides, if you’ve seen one roach you’ve seen them all. Well maybe you haven’t; we did. Definitely a night to forget, which I pretty much have, which is why I’m skipping to the next day and our attempt to “get back to where (we) once belonged.”

Homeward bound, somehow back in Michigan, near the interstate but off the path so to speak. We didn’t want to get arrested as (1) vagabonds or (2) interstate highway pedestrians, so we tried to hitch a ride at the start of a highway entrance ramp. Good news – no sign of Suicidal Tendencies or his Mustang. Bad news – no sign of any vehicle for looong periods of time.

Line from an old text-based computer game: “It is not so easy to open this tin. You stop opening the tin.” At that point in the game I usually starved to death, though I sometimes died in more interesting ways. “The Kobold hits…you die…” etc. Four hours, we spent waiting for a car to stop for us. Considering how we were traveling from Elsewhere to Nowhere, we might have anticipated these slim pickings in the free ride department. Instead we got Slim Pickens’ evil stunt double, masquerading as an unmarked state cop.

Borrowing a device from one of my favorite authors, I offer you two versions of what happened that day. In the first version, the fake cop was actually a space alien, a real-deal ET. The cruiser was a cruiser, only it wasn’t your garden variety domestic vehicle. Once the alien had us inside, it put us under some kind of spell. I remember little of what followed; some eerie, off-planet place where we were ordered out of the cruiser. Unable to argue or resist we left the relative safety of the cruiser and entered some kind of alien laboratory.

Memory really falters now. Broken, dreamlike images of two guys undergoing some type of…procedure, performed by the alien who captured them. Little remains in my mind of the procedure itself, though I think it’s safe to say it involved the requisite probes and orifices. After a period of time we found ourselves alone together, near the highway though not at the same place we last remembered. The alien and its cruiser were nowhere in sight.

We walked for a while, not speaking of our recent experience, no longer interested in taking rides from strangers. When we tired of walking and agreed to try thumbing another ride, we managed to get the attention of a for-real state cop, complete with marked car and flashing lights. We did not share our story with him, but opted to take his suggestion, leave his highway and not return. This seemed a better choice for keeping ourselves out of jail (and keeping Things out of us).

Strange experience…when I saw the flashing lights I felt a sudden, excruciating pain in an unexpected region, and almost lost my ability to stand. Then Denial asserted itself and I recovered. Mostly.

We walked for miles, through the night and into the next morning. Then we decided we were Done, called in a favor for a ride from a friend and went home. The end.

The second version is similar to the first. The fake cop was just a fake cop, and we were just too naïve to question his authority. When he started talking about cavity searches, Naiveté found strength in Denial. When he left the highway for a deserted wooded road, Denial became shrill and assertive while Reason turned to Dismay. When he ordered us out of the car and told us to face away from him…well. I split, took an emergency trip to my Fortress Of Solitude, a place like Superman’s, a massive refuge made of ice and hidden a thousand miles away from any other human. I wouldn’t see my friend there, but I think he didn’t stick around either for what followed on that deserted road.

To this day I can honestly say I don’t know exactly what happened, what the fake cop did. The little I do remember is more than enough.

So, dear reader – which version do you prefer?

***

Epilogue

I moved away and lost contact with the friend. Through a Whatever Happened To conversation I heard he died; we were never close so I won't be writing him a letter. I haven’t hitch-hiked since that trip, and most likely never will again. Something I can live without, eh.

We teach our children these things: respect authority, but do not blindly trust authority. If something seems wrong, it probably is wrong and it doesn’t matter how authoritative the wrong-doer is. Tell someone else. Don’t be passive, fight – fight hard, as if your life depended on it. Maybe most important is the lesson I failed to heed: don’t put yourself in a dangerous situation.

Duh.

The end for real this time.