This can't be good for tourism

by Andrea Mulder-Slater

Geoff and I were passing through the safe streets of a small town near the rural area where we live. That’s when it hit me.

“If we lived in Los Angeles, we’d be dead by now.” 

Geoff nodded at me from his position in the driver’s seat. He knew immediately what I was talking about.

“Or we’d be kidnapped.” I continued, “Or someone would be plotting an invasion of our house. At the very least we’d have a dead body in the trunk.” 

Geoff laughed. “If we lived in LA, I’d be the dead body in the trunk – and - I’d still be driving.”

Here’s the thing. We’ve been watching a lot of back-to-back crime dramas on Netflix, the majority of which are set in LA. And, if our calculations are correct – going by the approximately 13,214 minutes of footage we’ve seen over the past several months – there are only 4 people still breathing in the city of angels... and two of them are buried alive. In North Hollywood.

Another one bites the dust.

Meanwhile, don’t even get me started on the goings-on in San Francisco, where it would appear everyone is eventually mugged, kidnapped or blackmailed, because they've witnessed a mugging or a kidnapping.

Ok, so maybe I’ve become a little paranoid. I mean, I haven’t slept in 14 months. But, between shows like Leverage, Numb3rs, 24 and Monk, I’m convinced that if you dare go to The Golden State, you don’t come back alive. That is, unless you're a corrupt cop, or have really great skin and work for the FBI or the CTU or, I don’t know, the FML.

This can’t be good for tourism, California.

Nor is it great for my state of mind.

Me: Geoff! Geoff! What’s that noise?

Geoff: It’s the fireplace. What time is it?

Me: It’s 2am.

Geoff: Mmrrph.

Me: Geoff! Geoff! What’s THAT noise?

Geoff: It’s the icemaker. What time is it?

Me: 3:15am.

Geoff: Shmoorg.


Geoff: That was me. I was SNORING.

You see? Thanks to the likes of Don Eppes, Adrian Monk and Jack Bauer, I’m on guard, all night (and day) long.

Exactly how I feel. Jack, you "get" me.
Case in point…

Yesterday, after our drive around, Geoff let me off at our local post office while he waited in the car. As I walked down the steps, mail in hand, I looked up to see my husband, helping a woman up off the sidewalk. Blood was everywhere. The poor dear had tripped on uneven cobblestones and fallen face first onto the ground. But, do you know what my first thought was?


And so, I think it may be time for me to step away from stress-inducing shows, at least for a while. I wonder how happy Geoff will be to hear we’re going to start watching Knight Rider, the original. Again. At least with that series, the only things to be afraid of are hairspray, really tight pants and belt buckles the size of Cuba.

I’ll take big man hair over big hairy assassins any day of the week. And, like my friend Sharon says, when you watch Michael and Kit, you can distract yourself from any danger by counting the number of "as ifs" you utter per episode.

As if.

Oh and by the way, the lady on the sidewalk was ok. Not great, but not as bad as she could have been. After some medical attention inside the post office, paramedics took her to the hospital where doctors set her broken nose.

No gun shot wounds were found.

No, really.

1 comment

  1. Take my advice and throw out the TV altogether. Down with non reality shows, bettman's hockey league and supper bowls


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