Stoned at 3,700 Feet

There’s something wrong with these people. That’s what I thought when my husband and I bought a vacation home in Kingman, Arizona—a land five hours and a world away. First off, they seem unnaturally happy and smile all the time. How creepy is that?

When you pass someone on the street, they wave and ask, “How are you today?” And they hold doors open for me and call me “ma’am.” This polite deference to my age immediately roused my suspicions. Their overt niceness had to an elaborate ruse to dupe interloping Californians into a false sense of security. And when we relaxed our guard, they’d brandish their right-to-carry side arms, and rob us blind—or at least until we needed glasses. Continue reading “Stoned at 3,700 Feet”