Some people are remembered for monumental contributions to humanity. Others are remembered for driving through L.A. with four-month-old babies in their laps. Me? I’m remembered for falling victim to klepto-primates in Southeast Asia.
Yesterday at MAC Scotty B. informed me that he’d used my harrowing Monkey Mountain ordeal as an example for his sociology class at Marion High School. An example of what? It’s nice to know the youth of Marion have had a laugh at my expense.
This morning in the Well Kathryn took a break from medicine-ball sit-ups to inform me that she’d also shared my horrific experience with a Taylor student currently studying at Hong Kong Baptist University. It seems I’ve become a legend.
So to set the record straight, here’s my account of what happened that fateful day almost four years ago:
The team had just returned to Hong Kong from mainland China and we had a day to unwind before boarding our flight back to the other side of the planet. We decided to use this day to do some sightseeing on the yet-unexplored Hong Kong Island (we’d spent all our Hong Kong time in Kowloon). Everyone I’d talked to thus far had raved about Monkey Mountain, a magical place where humans and primates coexist as nature intended, where wild monkeys run free with the wind in their hair, where tourists can truly get in touch with the feral heart within. We set our itinerary and headed out for the adventure of a lifetime.
Prior to boarding our bus, however, I’d stopped in a convenience store to purchase some unique Chinese items for my impending trip home. I spent $40 HK ($5 US); money well-spent, or so I thought.
We reached Monkey Mountain and disembarked from the public bus. Our Asian friends led us up a path into the heart of the monkey kingdom. I clutched my plastic Watson’s bag and was about to ask a friend if I could place it in his backpack when out of nowhere this nasty, furry demon streaked past me, taking my recently-purchased souvenirs with him.
A hoard of snarling simians gathered to divide the spoils amongst them. One took a liking to a purple electric fan (batteries included). Another selected my cylindrical watch. A mother and child lathered up with glittery shower gel. It was an evil spectacle to behold.
At this point, I basically lost it and cried. I’d just come off two weeks of straight ministry and was emotionally raw. I left that mountain a shell of a woman. I mean, who gets mugged by monkeys? Yeah, that’s right. Me.
I never fully recovered.
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