Hi there, gay scouts!
Who wants to hear a ghost story?
Ok, pipe down, then.
Ok, everybody got enough marshmallows? Oops, Teddy, yours is burning. Oh, too late.
Ok. Alright. Find your buddy, everybody got their buddy?
'Cause, scouts, you're going to need your buddy. You get scared, you just grab hold of your buddy and squeeze the fuck out of his or her hand. Here we go!
This story is called "Vanished."
And it's a true story.
I know the person it happened to. You can't make this stuff up.
And we all know the scariest stories are the true ones, right?
Ok, ok, shhh, I'm starting!
"Vanished"
It happened in Arkansas.
A young girl (we'll call her Megan) flew into Arkansas around 6 p.m., just this last Sunday night.
She rented a minivan at the airport and drove up through some twisty country roads. She was trying to get to downtown Fayetteville.
The countryside was quiet.
Dead, almost.
The sun was setting. It was lush and green in Arkansas.
There was no wind.
Megan saw beautiful Arabian horses on her drive.
She saw fat white cows.
She saw three megachurches, all with overflowing parking lots.
But she saw no one.
There were no people, anywhere.
She drove by a a general store.
No one.
She passed a trailer park with a playground, and saw a swing moving up and down wildly, as if, a moment ago, a child had just jumped off its seat into the sky.
But there wasn't a child in sight.
Creepy.
Megan found her way into downtown Fayetteville.
Something was...off.
Everything looked normal. Stores were open. Stoplights clicked on and off. A flag hung limply on its pole.
But there was no one.
Amused, Megan drove down the middle of the main thoroughfare. Where is everybody? she thought.
Her minivan was the only car in the whole parking garage.
Every step echoed.
Megan was staying at a fancy hotel. But she seemed to be the only guest.
When she checked in, the man behind the desk said "We've been waiting for you, Megan" in an eerie voice.
She fled to her room.
Megan called for room service. The phone rang and rang and rang. She hung up.
And went down to the restaurant. The lights were on, there were places set on the tables, and she could smell fresh steak sizzling.
Hello? Megan called.
Nothing.
The empty bar gleamed.
With the hair prickling on the back of her neck, Megan walked through the swinging doors of the kitchen.
There was no one there.
She came back out of the kitchen doors.
And that's when she saw it: a lone glass of ice water was sitting on the bar, melting.
That did it.
Megan bolted down her hallway, shaking with fear.
She spent the rest of the night with the door double-bolted and the blackout shades drawn, terrified to look out the window; terrified to look in the mirror! She was sure that someone (or something) would be looking back at her!
AND MEGAN WAS NEVER HEARD FROM AGAIN.
Some say she just...vanished.
BWAH HA HA!! RAWR!! MUAH HAHAHAHA!!
Ha ha ha, gay scouts. Were you scared? Did I getcha?
Wanna know the best part? Remember how I said I knew the person in this story?
Well, Megan is me.
S'truth, sluts!
I should be earning merit badges for this shit.
Now, don't be too scared. This story has a happy ending.
With the morning sun came a shift change at the front desk.
My seminar filled up with teachers. The hallways of the hotel were suddenly overrun with women in capri pants asking me if I knew where to find the closest restroom.
Order was restored.
A couple of minutes ago, a banquet-server-guy rushed past me with a huge bucket of ice and about 50 Diet Cokes.
It's 9 a.m., so that could only mean one thing: the banquet-guy is working for a room full of businesswomen.
Only possible explanation.
I wandered down the hall and peeked in the room.
Hypothesis confirmed.
Some kind of "Female Leaders in Real Estate" bullshit. Lots of frosted blond highlights and polyester-blend skirt-suits from Kohl's.
Anyway! As the banquet-guy came back out of the room, a cute, petite lil' woman in her early 30s brushed past him in the hall and murmured, "Excuse me."
I thought the server-guy was going to get whiplash.
He turned his head sofast. Actually craned his neck, trying to watch her rear end as she opened the door to her meeting room.
Obviously a total reflex. I mean, she was cute, but she wasn't that cute. Jeez.
I grinned at the banquet-guy and gave him an "I-totally-saw-that" look.
His ears turned bright red as he smiled sheepishly back.
Awwwww.
And suddenly, it dawned on me:
My God. WHAT MUST IT BE LIKE FOR STRAIGHT GUYS?
Holy sweet baby jesus.
What must it be like to be in the majority?
To find straight women attractive and be able to (on average, fairly accurately) predict that she'd be into men?
To be able to simply assume that a woman is straight, like about 80% of the population is?
What must that be like????
It must be like a movable feast.
It must be like finding yourself in a Mexican bakery when you're starving - STARVING - for white-sugar frosting.
I don't think I'd be able to handle it.
I think I would have a fucking heart attack. I would look at all women in a new light.
I would NOT think: "Hmm, she's cute, I wonder if she's gay, probably not, maybe though, and maybe she'd like to get a coffee sometime, ahhh I'm too chicken."
I would think: "There is an 80% chance that she obviously wants to fuck."
I would have math on my side.
Homos, when I watched that banquet-server-guy practically turn his head 180 degrees, like in The Exorcist, just to watch some lukewarm piece in a poly-blend suit walk away, I felt something.
I felt something stirring in my icy black heart.
I can't be sure what it was. It might have been heartburn from the hotel coffee.
But tricks, it felt more like...compassion.
Women are so hot. It wasn't his fault.
Women are just so hot. He never even had a chance.
I really felt for the straight boy.
A sudden onrush of emotion. Tears welled in my eyes.
Thank God, thank God, thank God I'm gay.
I could never handle being in the majority.
My head would explode.
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