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The Transforming Salad
Submitted By Anonymous
OK. You ever had something really strange happen that you just can’t explain?
So, the other day, I was at the food court, and I decided to grab something to eat.
I went to one of those build your own salad restaurant spots, where someone behind the counter puts it together for you, exactly how you want it. And you watch them make it, right there.
I just wanted to see if it was fresh. I asked the girl to show me the spinach bed. She held it up, and it looked great. Fresh, dark green, a good amount of it too. So I said, “Yeah, I’ll take the spinach base.” (Because Note: I had spring mix at home in the fridge. Which is why I wanted spinach so if I chose to, I could’ve just added it to my spring mix)
Then she asked which toppings I wanted. You get four.
So I picked: Chicken for the protein, watched her put it on top of the spinach, cucumbers, chickpeas, and last, bleu cheese.
I know, weird combo, but I was craving it!
She asked me what kind of dressing I wanted, and grabbed the 2 containers, and after that, I walked down to the end of the counter to pay.
The person who made the salad brought it, along with the dressing, to the cashier.
The cashier looked at the salad and said, “Build your own on spinach?”
I said, “Yes.”
She bagged it up, I paid in cash, took the receipt, and headed home.
So I get home, open the bag, take out the salad…
And now, my salad is on a bed of spring mix.
Not spinach. Spring. Mix.
And now I’m bewildered!!
I know what spinach looks like. I watched her make it. It was all spinach—no red or purple leaves, no different shapes or colors. It was just solid green spinach that she loaded my toppings on to. That’s what I picked!
So now I’m confused. Trying to make some sense of it, I think, “Maybe they gave me the wrong salad?” But no. The person in front of me ordered a smoothie, and the couple behind me, was jus tstarting to place their salad order. I watched my salad being made. And my toppings were unique, so it was my salad…And I paid for it and saw the receipt.
I go back and check the receipt.
And this part is even crazier.
Because where it used to read “SPINACH,” it now had the word “SPRING.”
But the word SPRING, is faded.
It was the only word on the receipt that was faded.
The only one.
What is going on?
I tried to explain it away. Maybe I did get spring mix instead of spinach, But no, I saw her make it from start to finish. I know it was spinach.
How did my salad transform?
And how did the receipt change only there?
But anyway, I ate it, and it was delicious.
But this? … salad magic. Salad glitch. Salad something. Is unexplainable
Any thoughts, anybody?
Still Walking
By: Anonymous
It was routine for me, during my one-hour lunch break at work, to take a walk. There was a park about a 10-minute drive up the street, and along the perimeter of the park was a walking trail. It was perfect for me to de-stress midday or to get my exercise in for the day. During my lunch hour, I would do a half-hour walk at the park, then head back to the office, freshen up, and grab a quick bite to eat. I had done this for several years.
Whenever the weather was good, whenever it wasn’t unbearably hot or raining, which was most of the time, I would go. The weather often felt perfect for walking in the park. I’d put my headphones on, get a little lost in the music, and just focus on not worrying about anything. Though I always wore headphones, I kept one earbud out so I could hear what was going on around me. I still wanted to stay safe.
I pulled into the parking lot of the park and put my key in my wristband, which had a small zipper compartment. There weren’t many people there that day, maybe three or four. They were all women, walking the track and getting their exercise in. The track was about four miles in length, rounded with a few twists as it followed the perimeter of the park. In the center were grassy areas, a children’s playground, benches, fire pit grills, and a canopied area with tables and benches underneath. A couple of people were under the canopy, including two men playing chess.
That day, I was wearing gray capri leggings and a T-shirt. I would change at the office into my walking clothes, and then change back into my work attire when I returned.
It was a sunny day, about 75 degrees, clear skies and just a slight breeze. I had made my way about halfway around the track. There were fenced gates that enclosed the park, and as I reached the opposite side, a man entered through the open gate door. That wasn’t unusual, people who walked to the park from the neighborhood, used that gate side to enter.
I saw him when he entered the park. He was wearing a gray shirt and light khaki pants. I continued walking at my usual brisk pace, not jogging, but fast enough to get my heart rate up-cardio! He began walking behind me.
I did not know him. And as a general rule, I never stop moving, to talk to anyone. On the track, when I walk, pleasantries are exchanged in passing, “Hello, how are you?”, but I keep moving. He said “hello, hi”. In response, I said hi and kept walking.
He followed me.
He began walking closely behind me. He said, “How are you?”
I said, “Fine. I’m walking.” His proximity was making me uncomfortable; he was walking too close to me.
He said, “Um you’re pretty,” and then he said, “I like you.”
That concerned me. His tone and demeanor was off, this was not just a compliment. Nothing like that had ever happened to me at that park. It had always felt like a relatively safe place. I had been going there for years, not just during lunch, but also in the evenings, even after dark, usually with friends or my husband.
This was different. But I kept walking.
I said, “Thank you. I’m married.” An uneasy feeling was setting in, I didn’t like this.
His invasion of my space had me feeling uncomfortable at this point.
He said, “I like your BLEEP. I really like you.”
I again said, “I’m married” and picked up my pace.
He stayed close behind me. He then said, “I don’t care. I want you.”
Now he was right next to me. He said, “You have a nice BLEEP.”
Coldly, I stared at him. Looking right at him, I saw his face clearly. His eyes were a grayish color, un-common and striking. Though the color was beautiful, almost mesmerizing, there was something frighteningly menacing about them. His face was large, olive-toned, with visible remnants on his skin of having had severe acne as a youth. His hair was dark and curly, and he spoke with an accent. He was tall, 6’1” I’ll estimate, I am about a foot shorter that he was. He wasn’t huge or large, but of average build.
I walked faster to create more distance. Then he reached his hand out and touched me, on my backside. I was shocked and screamed, ” Don’t touch me. Get your hands off of me”! He grabbed my arm. I tried to run.
In that moment, I knew I was in danger.
Thoughts raced through my head. This can’t be happening. This man is going to kill me today. We were about 100 feet from the gate he had entered. I thought he might try to grab me and pull me out of that gate. I could not let that happen.
For me, in that moment, it was fight or flight. I had to get away from him. Instinctively, I made a fist, lunged up, and punched him hard, in the throat and then partially struck him on the side of his face. He still held on to my other arm.
I pulled away and looked at him. The look in his eyes, that look on his face was absolute evil. Wicked in a way I had never seen before. If the situation had been different, I honestly believe he would have killed me. I was screaming, yelling, fighting. He didn’t hit me back, but I pulled and he let go. I took that opportunity and ran. I cut across the track, through the grassy center. Running and screaming toward my car on the opposite side of the park.
He looked stunned. Not just because I hit him, but as if he didn’t expect that I would fight back at all. As if he thought I was much younger, than I actually was, a more vulnerable perhaps easy target.
The entire encounter likely lasted 5 to less than 10 minutes. But it felt like forever.
As I ran, I saw a few people on the track, who had passed me by earlier, a woman walking, another jogging. Though they were ahead of me, they could still see and hear what was happening. After I broke away her turned, and started running, exiting the park through the gate he had entered.
I was shaken up and shaking as I made my way to my car.
Not one person who was in that park that day came to check on me. They all heard me scream, they saw me fight, they saw me running. No one moved.
No one came to say that they saw what happened. No one asked if I was okay. No one offered help. The women on the track kept walking. The men playing chess looked up, then went back to their game. Someone sitting in the parking lot,, near my car, drove off without stopping.
Not one person did a thing.
My cell phone was in my car, I didn’t have it with me on the track. I grabbed my phone and called my job. My co-worker Justin answered. I told him what had just happened, and he said, “Do you need us to come there right now? Are you okay? We’re on our way.”
Justin said, “Me and Grayson are on our way right now. We’re coming for you.”
I said, “No, He’s gone, so it’s okay. But I’ll be back at work in just a few minutes. I just have to get myself together.”
Grayson and Justin both said, “Are you sure? We are coming right now.”
I said, “No, I’m on my way back.”
Next, I called my husband. He said, “Call the police. Do you see any police around there?” I said, “No.”
Often officers were at the park, just parked or talking, but of course, that day, there were none.
I returned to the office, freshened up, changed back into my work clothes, and went back to work. I loved my coworkers. They were a great group.
I planned to call the police right then, but I waited until I got home.
That evening, I called the police. An officer came to the house to take my statement. He asked if I had ever seen the man before. I said, “No, I’ve never seen this person there before,” and I went to that park almost every day.
I showed him my wrist. I didn’t realize it but I had a bruise from where I struck the man, likely from hitting his chin or face. The officer expressed concern, said he was glad I was okay, and told me I had every right to defend myself. The bruise lasted about a week.
After that day, I didn’t realize how deeply shaken I was. I did not walk in that park again, for four years. I believe I had PTSD.
I was afraid, afraid someone might try to harm me, kidnap me, or sexually assault me. This had happened in broad daylight, during lunch. If it could happen then, what did that mean?
So for four years, instead of walking at lunchtime, my husband and I walked in our neighborhood after dinner so I could still get exercise. I was not able to walk alone.
The thoughts that ran through my mind in that moment were clear: this person was crossing every boundary. He could think what he wanted, even say it—but the moment he put his hands on me, everything changed. I didn’t know what would happen next.
My child was the first thing that came to my mind. I have a young daughter. I have to go home to her. And if, for any reason, this man tried to take me away from her, NO! I was not going down without a fight. I thought about my family. I thought, my husband is going to lose his wife. My daughter, my sweet young daughter, won’t have a mother anymore. This man is going to kill me.
I often think that, even though that day caused me trauma, I may have saved someone else’s life.
I believe he thought I was much younger than I was. Was he a predator? Had he had come to that park looking for a young girl, he encountered me instead; a grown woman, a mother, a wife, an adult woman, a mama bear, who would fight back.
There weren’t many people in the park that day. Most days there are a lot of people, including young girls, highschoolers. But oddly, not that day. So maybe, in some way, I interrupted something. Maybe I prevented something from happening to a girl who wouldn’t have been able to defend themselves.
I don’t know what his intentions were with me. But those eyes, that look, the way he felt entitled to put his hands on me, it told me enough.
No one helped me that day. And I learned something very important: you must look out for yourself. Just because people are around doesn’t mean they will step in. It doesn’t mean they will help. Assume, they don’t care.
For four years, I held onto fear and did not, I could not, return to that park.
When I think of that day at the park, I hope I saved a young girl’s life.
I’m still here. Though it took a while, I did go back to the park to walk again. And today I am Still Walking.