I once had a fleet of Air Force servicemen and women point their guns at me.
A junior in college at the time, my friends Michael and Alyssa and I had gone to hear a show at a local coffee shop one Saturday night. We packed into my white Chevy Luv, its single row barely fitting our three bottoms. Maneuvering the stick shift was a little tricky given the lack of space, but the bigger quandary came in finding our way home.
We were all what one might call directionally impaired.
So, when we blew past the entrance gate at McChord Air Force base, thinking we could make a quick U-turn back to where we needed to be, military personnel did what they had been trained to do in the event of an intruder. They surrounded my pick-up truck with their bigger-than-life vehicles, lights flashing and sirens blaring. They drew their guns. They spoke through a megaphone to get our attention.
“Uh, Cara,” Alyssa said at one point, “you might want to stop.”
So focused on getting us back to the freeway and to the university we called home, it took me a second to realize the commotion going on around me.
They quickly ascertained that we were rather harmless (which we were), and sent us on our way. But I’ve never forgotten that detour.
Do not fret: story time’s not over yet! How does one unwanted detour through the McChord Air Force base apply to the rest of life? How and why do detours make us yearn for home? Today, some thoughts over at She Loves Magazine – join us!0