The White Van

A quick excerpt from a bigger untitled work in progress:

The White Van

 

          When I was younger there was this quasi-urban legend of “the white van”.  Every single kid in the city lived in fear of white vans, even though nobody actually knew what would happen to us if we ever encountered one.  All that was clear was that white vans equalled unspeakably horrible things, most likely involving death and torture and people born with chainsaws for hands.

            One day my friend Jamie and I were alone at her house and suddenly the doorbell rang.  We looked out the window, and right in front of her house was a white van.

            “OH MY GOD HE’S HERE!!!” we shrieked.  “What do we do?!”

            Had he seen us?  Did he know we were inside? Did he know we were alone?  So many questions, but we knew we were probably going to die.

            “I don’t wanna die!!!”

            Jamie and I were crying and panicking and we hysterically decided that the best course of action would be to hide in her bedroom closet with a kitchen knife.  That way if he found us we would be able to defend ourselves before he hacked us into bloody little bits and pieces.  It was a fail proof plan. 

            In retrospect it’s a little weird how it never occurred to either of us to call 911 at any point, even though they were relentless about instilling this in schools.  I think it could probably be blamed largely on the fact that we had grown up watching Kevin’s wild vigilante justice methods in the Home Alone franchise.  The fact that we hadn’t rigged up elaborate traps involving paint cans and blow torches was evidence of just how unprepared we were for things like white vans.  I think this is the reason my mother hated the Home Alone movies.  Nevertheless, John Hughes solutions were far more compelling to kids than any emergency hotline.

            So finally after what seemed like ten hours, but was actually closer to three minutes, the knocking at the front door just stopped.  We decided to sneak a peek out the bedroom window and watched the van pull away.  We were safe.  But for how long?  We were certain he’d be back, and we probably wouldn’t be so lucky next time.

            About an hour later Jamie’s mother returned home and wondered why the groceries still hadn’t been delivered.

            This was the kind of thing that happened when irrational fears of vague things that are abundant in society become instilled in the public conscience.  Poor innocent delivery guys have their jobs unnecessarily complicated while little girls are locked in closets with futile weapons and undelivered ice cream melts into liquid in the backs of white vans all over the city.  It’s total chaos.