If guardian angels can scream, I think mine may be hoarse. In fact, upon hearing that my husband, Bill, and I were heading for Arizona, a fleet of angels may have been reassigned.
We've had another harrowing experience that you'll hear about in the next blog. But the last time we visited this sunny state, I found myself in a rather dark situation.
Out on a late night search for ice cream, my daughter, Traci, and I stopped in at a 24-hour food mart. Gas and goodies were available for anyone whose car or "sweet tooth" was running on empty.
We weren't alone in our quest.
As we stood at the counter clutching our Ben & Jerry's gourmet pints, the cashier disappeared with an "Excuse me, I'll be right back" - and a BASEBALL BAT.
Evidently, he was about to have a little "come to repentance" meeting with a returning driver who had failed to pay. From what we gathered, the guy had returned to resume an earlier argument.
The night manager headed toward the electronic door, gave it a swift kick and then moved out to the gas pumps.
Their heated voices rose as our ice cream warmed. Still, Traci and I stood rooted to our spot inside. We weren't about to leave our "Cherry Garcia" dessert behind. We marched to our own beat.
My guardian angel began to sweat.
"Maybe we should just leave our money on the counter," I fretted, digging through my handbag. "But I don't have a smaller bill than a 20."
Traci didn't have her wallet. This was to be my treat since we were guests in their timeshare condo.
The minutes ticked by. (I could have sworn I heard an angelic shriek in my ear.)
We couldn't decide whether we should break for the door and our parked car or just freeze like deer in the headlights.
Suddenly, there was a squeal of tires as the enraged patron left the premises. The heroic clerk returned to the cash register without the slightest trace of fear.
"I'm an ex-Marine," he explained. "Nobody gets away with anything on my watch."
Traci and I exchanged glances. Maybe my guardian angel had brought in a recruit after all.