This is a true story

 

It all started innocently enough. You see, I arrived at my job on that fateful day where I was employed as the only lady manager on the team. The men there were certain I would come crashing down sooner or later, although most of the time I was just one of the guys.

Even at that, a few of the men accused me of having a tea party with my clients. I smile today as I remember because tea party or not, I delivered the product. As I wrote a receipt for money taken, each customer left my office with a grin on their face. Success!

 

So on this fateful, innocent morning, it was not really a surprise that I was selected from our team as a participant for the big, annual throw-down convention to be held that very weekend in the Mecca of all swank places, Disney World, Orlando, Florida. The biggie was my transportation was to be a long, black Lincoln.

 

Hubs quickly arranged to go along as driver, advisor, map-reader, pointer and general-all-round consultant. He’s a whole lot smarter than he looks.

 

The plan was to leave directly after work on Friday and more-or-less drive straight through since I had to register Sunday afternoon by 5pm. Come Friday, we took off. We had planned to drive as late into the night as we could handle, spend the night and drive into Orlando Saturday night. Hubs as navigator had made the decision to drive all back roads.

 

It was all going well when at almost midnight we approached a rather dinky-looking bridge. As we bumped along, I glanced to my left. There sat the most gosh-awful looking hunk of a huge thing, and it was puffing smoke, I thought, with blinking lights from top to bottom. I suppose I had seen too many alien-abduction movies, but I declare there were little green men hanging all over the place. I kicked the Lincoln into high-gear and we escaped. As we raced down the highway, Hubs noticed the paper mill sign. Whew – that was a close call.

 

Maybe in order to catch our breath, we pulled into the parking lot of a convenience store and parked under the street light. Actually, I think Hubs was reading the map, when a sheriff’s car began to circle us. I told Hubs, “They are watching us.” I mean after all we were in a long-black Lincoln with a dealer tag.

 

That’s when it all went crazy. Law enforcement vehicles screeched into the parking lot from every direction, sirens blasted, and police crowded each corner of the area. Suddenly from the front door of the convenience store ran two fugitives with hands up. I’m not sure just what had happened, but we decided it was time to find a motel room.

 

The remainder of the trip down was either uneventful or we were too stunned to take notice. We arrived to beautiful Walt Disney World in time for the Saturday night reception. There were approximately 100 people in attendance, and I was the only woman. It was lovely but I was too busy explaining that I was the manager in attendance, not Hubs. Actually he rather enjoyed the mistaken identity, I think.

 

But the big thing – as I prepared my agenda of meetings for Monday, Hubs discovered there was a shuttle scheduled to take off that day as well from the nearby Space Center. He had gotten permission to drive the high-dollar car so he took off.

 

When he arrived, there was a long line waiting to enter the gate, but much to his surprise he was waved on through. Then he noticed, along with a dozen or so additional black Lincolns, he was given VIP parking and directed to VIP seating.

 

Not to ask any questions — Remember he is smarter than he looks — Hubs took his seat and began to hobnob with all of the dignitaries of which he now realized he was one. He had a good ole time. There were refreshments and special padded seats — everything that a VIP would need. And the launching of the shuttle was even more spectacular than the paper mill we had witnessed on Friday night.

 

Yes, the long black Lincoln – what a way to go.

 

Anne McKee is a Mississippi-inspired creative writer and executive director at Meridian Railroad Museum. See her website: annemckeestoryteller.com.