I have to assume anybody who uses couchsurfing.com approaches their transactions with a modicum of trepidation, or at least I hope they do, but I also would be remiss if I did not alert everybody to the fact that there is at least one confirmed super weirdo in the mix. His name is Ted.He came to me via a note nailed to the heavy wooden front door of a former "officer's house" where my friend was staying, in the middle of a sleepy old naval base on the San Francisco Bay. It read:
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"What?" Miguel gasped. "But…"
"We're not going to Yosemite. We're going somewhere else."Ted drove off elsewhere, taking Miguel to a place called "the peninsula." I'm sure it is a beautiful place to go, wherever it is, but not when you think you might be buried there in a shallow grave. Or raped at gunpoint.Miguel had no idea where he was, no idea where he was going, and he was in the middle of nowhere. He began hatching an escape plan. He realized his friend Bill lived relatively nearby, in San Francisco. He bluffed."Hey, Ted, my friend Bill just sent me a text and said his sister is going to Buenos Aires tomorrow and that maybe she can take my skis back for me, so I don't have to lug them around New York for the rest of my trip.""That's great! Let's go! That'll be a big help, I bet."
Ted was accommodating. He drove Miguel all the way to the old naval base in San Francisco, to Bill's house. Miguel removed his skis and his suitcase from the back of Ted's car."I…have to do laundry, too…"
"Oh, OK--I'll come back to pick you up in a few hours."
"OK…"Miguel evidently went inside, met my friend and me, explained the weird situation to Bill, then they went out drinking. A narrow escape.GOODTIME CHARLIE
