
This week’s hometowns include trying to enjoy a picnic and hanging out at a mall in the ‘80s.Support this podcast by shopping our latest sponsor deals and promotions at this link: https://bit.ly/3UFCn1g. See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.
Chapter 1: What is the theme of this minisode?
Hello and welcome.
Chapter 2: What happened during the picnic story?
to my favorite murder. The mini-sode. Here it is, all cute and mini. You wanna go first? Sure. Okay, I'm not gonna tell you the name of this one. All right, hey team, my husband and I bought our very first house in the middle of COVID lockdown, just over four years ago now. We had a three-year-old and a new baby, and despite these amazing milestones in our lives, it was a strange time to be alive.
One thing that made life slightly less cabin fevery was the park behind our house. By park, I mean biggish rocky hill at the top of which is a beautiful Gary Oak meadow. Gary Oaks are gnarly, scraggly, Tim Burton trees, but the creepy factor is offset by the wildflowers that grow between them. Crocuses, daffodils, fawn lily, and camas. Pretty spectacular stuff.
One day, my husband and I had a rare opportunity to go out alone together. Seizing the moment we got takeout Vietnamese subs and avoiding the plague, we took them to the summit of our hill. It was a gorgeous spring day. The creepy trees were creeping and crocuses were in full bloom.
We walked past a gathering of 15 people or so, weird to see so many people in one spot in those days, who were perched in a circle at the top of a small cliff overlooking the city. They had a bunch of acoustic guitars, so we veered hard to the left.
Not thinking much about it except that we wanted some alone time, unsullied by tragic covers of Imagine and Hallelujah, we headed down to a nice lookout spot nestled under the cliff, sort of semi-private. We tucked into our banh mi, so delicious, and were generally feeling pretty happy. The guitars had started up, but the view was nice, so we didn't mind.
Oh!
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Chapter 3: How did COVID affect personal experiences?
Onto our beautiful banh mi sandwiches. And like during COVID, we got up and ran quietly and respectfully and very fucking fast directly all the way home and into the shower. Worst of all, we had to throw out those delicious subs. And I mean, you know, Vietnamese subs are everything with that soft white loaf and all that cilantro and mayo and green chilies. Sorry, writing while hungry.
Chapter 4: What was Megan's memorable picnic experience?
Needless to say, date night was cut short. Yeah, I bet. Like just this desperate grab for one moment together alone. And what you get is a dead body sprinkled on top of you. That's right. In any case, I first heard your lovely voices around the same time as the ruined picnic and binging the episodes in reverse order was another tool I used to keep sane during pandemic times.
I am a midwife with a medical degree and not a whiff of patchouli about me. And I remember at the time having to attend prenatal clinic visits, births, and home visits in swimming goggles and homemade trash bag gowns as there was a shortage on PPE on our island and nothing left for us to use to protect ourselves. So scary. Yeah. Says, what a fucking time. Yeah.
You kept me afloat and have kept me company through so many of life's twists and turns in the years that have followed. I am grateful. Take good care, stay sexy, and don't have a picnic at a funeral. Megan. And then it says, just Megan spelled weird because it's spelled weird.
She, her. Megan, that's a story for the ages. I mean, that's an anecdote that you're going to be able to pull out at any dinner party when people are like trading great stories back and forth. You're like, okay, well, everybody sit down because it's my time to shine.
Definitely. This is going to be her grandchildren are going to write in this hometown to whoever is hosting my favorite murder in fucking 25 years from now. Good Lord. And be like, that was my grandma. Oh, my God. Spelled weird was my grandma.
My mom was pregnant with me during that story when she had cremains sprinkled on her.
Oh, God.
Oh, shit. Okay. Amazing kickoff. I think I have a good follow-up here. Okay. I won't read you the subject line. And the opening is, My Favorite People. Aw. I'm currently at work listening to Minnesota 401, which is listener Catherine's story of being a 10-year-old bartender. I can't top that, but I remembered my experience as a receptionist for my school district for one morning at 11 years old.
All right. It would have been a totally banal story had I not received two rather unfortunate calls within the same five minutes. So for some brief background, my middle school and the elementary school where my mom teaches were connected.
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Chapter 5: What was Alyssa's experience as a young receptionist?
Yeah. Old soul. Yeah. Big sister kind of a thing. Yeah. I'm in charge. Yeah. Okay, so about 7.30 a.m., I got a call from a substitute teacher who had just gotten in a car accident and wouldn't be able to make it in. I remember floundering immediately, there being no protocol for how to do any components of the job, let alone handle a fairly serious issue.
I ascertained the man was not hurt, and I let him know that I'd pass along his message to someone, literally anyone else. They handled it. Yeah. That's handling it.
I will let an older person know.
Yeah. What more do you want me to do? Literally. We can't turn back the hands of time. Do you have insurance? That's all I can ask. Well, then you've done your part. Right. Nerves abuzz and getting sweaty, I tried to calm myself down in preparation for the next couple hours. Then the phone rang again. This time, the man on the other end immediately launched into a tirade about being underpaid.
I'm a teacher there and I need more money. What are you going to do about it? He demanded. What? Nearly in tears, I blurted out, I'm just Alyssa. I don't even work here. I'm just Alyssa. Had I not been in such a state of anxiety, I might have recognized the voice of my math teacher calling to play a prank on me. Ooh, adult.
Within a few more seconds, he realized I was not recognizing the joke and said, Alyssa, it's Mr. Bridger. Friends, I think I hung up on him. To this day, I don't remember. Thankfully, nothing bad actually happened, and I returned to my normal sixth grade scholarly pursuits. I have to say...
I very clearly remember being in sixth grade because that was when I realized like, oh, I love to read aloud in class.
Oh, yeah.
Here's what I like. Here's what I like. So like if somebody came down, I was like, you answer the phone for the day. I would have been seventh heaven.
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Chapter 6: What prank did Alyssa's teacher pull?
Member FDIC.
Clearly, identity protection was not a top priority for the DMV either. At that time in my state, they didn't require you to bring a birth certificate, provide your social security number or proof of residency, which is hilarious because I'm trying to get like my new driver's license and I can't bring enough paperwork to prove who I am. And even though I already have a legit driver's license.
Yeah. Like they do not believe me because my middle name is... in some stuff and not in others. Right. What the fuck?
They're like, can you bring in three gas bills? And it's like, no, I don't. What are you talking about? I don't get paper gas bills anymore.
Right. Can you bring people that you knew in elementary school? No, I'm not friends with them anymore. Can you bring in your own soul in a jar? Right. Prove that you're a human being. Bring in your inner child. Please. Then it says, a vague resemblance to the expired ID was literally the only identification I needed to renew it. What a contrast from today's DMV experience.
Within a matter of 20 minutes, I had my photo taken, paid $10 and was handed back the expired ID along with a brand new non-driver identification card with my photo. It says, yes, Gen Z, they used to print them on location. And yes, I went to Tootsie's a lot. Hell yeah. Yeah, you did.
But just a few months later, I was leaving a liquor store, vodka in hand, and an undercover officer approached me. He said I looked young and wanted to scan my ID. No problem, right? After all, it was valid and it was my photo. Except there was a problem. Apparently, my ex had a warrant for her arrest. Oh, shit. It was something trivial, like unpaid parking tickets.
I momentarily contemplated going to jail as her. That's like how bad she wanted to keep that fucking ID. Yeah, really. Thankfully, I came to my senses and informed the officer that it wasn't my ID and handed over mine. He stood there looking at both IDs, obviously confused at how much we, quote, looked alike. In the end, I received a couple tickets and he confiscated the ID.
Tootsie was so short-lived. Unless I'm not even fucking joking. I went and renewed the original expired ID again. Fucking diabolical teenager.
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Chapter 7: How does Alyssa relate her past to her current job?
I was so confused, but soon after I got a call from my ex explaining that it was her ex that had just carded me. In my late teens and early 20s, I was wild and impulsive, which quickly became reckless and dangerous. Thankfully, my friends and family never gave up on me and carried me to the other side. I am now 18 years sober. Wow. Wow.
Congratulations.
This podcast reminds me that while my struggles and trauma may be unique to me, they are not unique to the human experience. That sentiment helps me find gratitude, have more compassion, and be accountable. Wow. Fuck. That's a lot to get from these two gals. From this bullshit. Yeah.
take it yeah really mfm is a safe place for so many thank you for its creation keep sharing stories and their truth and as always stay sexy and don't grow up too fast also don't commit felonies bridget she her bridget brilliant beautiful right on target for what we're looking for for a story of any kind exactly oh damn it's so funny yeah that was great
Okay. This one, the subject line is Glory Days, The Mall. And it says, Hi there. I just listened to episode 447. Up until Karen got to the utter tragedy that occurred at the Sun Valley Mall, it made me very nostalgic for my mall rat days. Picture it. Des Moines, Iowa, 1985.
I'm 11 years old and frequently skulk around the mall in my parachute pants, striped, untucked Oxford, and knit tie that keenly accentuated my amazing mullet and feathered bangs. Ooh. Time and place. Top tier. For some reason, they decided to open a water slide in the mall called the Hydro Tube. Indoor water slide in the middle of a mall in Des Moines. In Des Moines.
It says, I personally never went on the water slide. And then in parentheses, I had far more pressing things to spend my money on, such as cigarettes, french fries, and shitty earrings from Claire's that always caused infections in my delicate lobes. It says the hydro tube didn't last long. It closed only six months after opening.
There remain rumors and urban legends that somebody died in the slide. But I think it really closed because one, a water slide in a mall in Iowa is a dumb idea. And two, the maintenance was unwieldy. Oh, the black mold. My God. And also like if it was 1985, there's a chance that it's like Action Park style water slide where maybe the dip was too steep.
You know what I mean? You just go crashing into like the Precious Moments store or something like that.
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