Wednesday, April 27, 2011

Serial Killers and Family Values

I've always had this really weird, completely irrational fear that when I die, it will be at the hands of a sadistic serial killer. I know it doesn't make sense but for some reason, I always picture my life ending in the sickest way possible. I think on some level, everyone worries about how they are going to die. Will I be old and die in my sleep? That's best case scenario, of course. But I wonder if I'm the only one who worries about being tortured to death in a chamber of my own personal fears.

I always think of this shit when I'm out late and alone. The fear actually started right around the time I was 16 or so and I started having a life and I would get home late at night. We lived in an apartment building that was absolutely, without a doubt, haunted as all fuck. Or, more specifically, the hallway was haunted. By something that got it's kicks chasing me up the stairs.

I'm not crazy, and I never saw it. But when someone chases you up 3 fucking flights of stairs every single night, you know you aren't imagining it. I never said anything to anyone about it, so I was shocked to have my crazy fear confirmed (as much as it could be confirmed) several years after we moved out. My mom and I had been casually discussing our old home and she nonchalantly mentioned how she hadn't wanted to scare me so she never told me about the thing that used to chase her up the stairs (FYI though, ghost- that's a total bitch move).

Ok, but I'm getting off track here. I believe it ghosts. That isn't really my point. My point is that I would be scared shitless every night when I got home. Whatever it was that chased us was clearly not friendly and it made my mind wander to other not-friendly things. It would come to be that any time I was alone, outside of my house at night, I would be afraid of someone attacking me in the night and murdering the shit out of me. It got to the point that I was afraid to stop at red lights on my way home from work because I was sure some psychopath was waiting in the intersection for an easily abductable victim.

I'm not as scared as I used to be. I don't work nights anymore and I'm rarely alone, but it can still end up on my mind on those occasional dark-and-stormy type nights. So to make myself feel better, I try to think of all the reasons I don't fit the profile of someone a serial killer would abduct, torture and murder. Let's do a little research, shall we?

Charles Manson: Hippie. Preyed on the perpetually stoned to do his dirty work. It would seem to me that he wanted notariety more than he actually wanted to kill people, because he didn't do any of the actual murdering himself. So definitely a psycho, but this type of killer won't ever bother with me, because I'm not super rich and famous. Just super awesome, really.

Ted Bundy: This guy had a type. Young and thin. I'm almost 30 and not at all thin. I'm clearly adorable, but I'm pretty sure most serial killers go for the skinny, easy kill. Nobody wants to be fighting off a fat girl. Also, his victims were kinda dumb. "I have a cast on my arm, want to go over to this secluded area with me? I promise I won't kill you!". No, that would never happen to me.

Green River Killer/Jack the Ripper: Liked hookers. And this bitch ain't no ho.

John Wayne Gacy/Jeffrey Dahmer: Were all about the dudes. Why can't you just admit that you are gay and move on with your life?

Ok. So now that we have established that I'm old, fat, poor, morally sound and penisless, we can all agree that I'm not a target, right? Right! So I'm sure you are wondering "but why Jaclyn? Why would you post on your blog that is allegedly about parenting and talk about fucking serial killers? You are kind of a sick bitch, you know that?". Well, obviously I have a perfectly reasonable and not at all insane reason for thinking about murdering! My train was late today!

Let's backpeddle a little, shall we?

I have a pretty well established routine. My best bitch, Nadine and I work in the same office. She knows what time I get in every morning and she knows that if my train is running late, I'll send her a text so she can pass it along to our boss. Now, usually when a train is running late, you will receive some sort of alert about it. Whether it's on your phone or through email, or just announcements they are making at the station, I can usually have a pretty good idea if I'm going to be any significant amount of time late. So this morning, when I heard an announcement in the subway station where I wait for my train, I decided that the 5 minute delay they were informing commuters about didn't warrant a phone call. I'm usually early anyway and 5 minutes wasn't going to make any difference for me.

So my train comes 5 minutes late as promised. I get on and get a seat, which was pretty lucky because 5 minutes late really is the difference between the regular number of commuters and a metric butt-ton of extra people taking up all the seats. The train got going and all was normal for the first 2 stops. At the next stop, however, we were being held for some sort of signal problem and sat in that station for about 15 minutes.

I was starting to worry that I might be a few minutes late, but it's impossible to get cell phone signal in the subways so there wasn't much I could do to let my boss know. But we were off again after that 15 minute delay and I wasn't worried anymore. I would still only be about 5 minutes late, and we only had 2 more stops to go until mine. Next stop: Doors open, doors close. And nothing else happens. Another annoucement informed us that we were being held due to train congestion or some other bullshit. I should have expected congestion, I suppose. Allergy season and all. So we sat there at the stop before mine for another 30 minutes.

There wasn't anything I could do about it really, and I certainly wasn't stressing out or anything. In fact, I took a nice little nap while we waited. When we finally reached my stop and I made it out onto the street, my phone started beeping like crazy. I had a couple of missed texts and a voicemail.

The first message was from Nadine. I was now 40 minutes late for work and she was concerned because she hadn't heard from me. Then I see I have a text from Rodolfo. Nadine had panicked and called him because I didn't show up and never called her. I called him first, since my train stop is only half a block from my office and I knew I'd see Nadine very soon. He sounded very relieved and told me he had started making frantic phone calls to the transit company to see if there was some sort of problem. He had only found out about my train service issues right before I called him. Nadine was also very relieved to see me when I walked into work.

So now, let's wrap up this disjointed, clusterfuck of a post into a nice, neat little bow.

Serial killers. I realized today that a serial killer would not have enough time to kill me and dispose of my body before my loved ones came looking for me. And maybe he would kill me anyway, but that motherfucker would be brought to justice in like, a day. Because I've got people who come looking for me after only 40 minutes. So, I mean at least he definitely wouldn't have time to torture me and find out about all my secret fears and incorporate them into my horrifying death.

So thank you to the people in my life who care enough to make sure my theoretical untimely death is quick and painless.


Unknown said...


Mother Knows Best Reviews said...

I have several thoughts about this:

1. I love this post. You know why? I, for some reason, am super-interested in serial killers and their psychology. And I know random facts about them, like that Ted Bundy was executed on my 10th birthday. And that, when we were looking for houses, I dismissed any with a crawl space ENTIRELY because John Wayne Gacy lived in Iowa at one point, and I don't want to be haunted by the souls of his victims.

2. It's kind of hard to follow up number one, but this is the more important one. You and your friends and your family are awesome. I love that you have such a good support system.