It wasn't an army of assassins but it was an army.
First day out in the new car and I've never been this scared in an upper class white neighborhood. The street ended in a cul-de-sac/traffic circle (there was grass in the middle) - it was lousy with kids. I wove through the skateboarding, running, ball-tossing crowd carefully avoiding the battery powered miniature jeep whose toe-headed driver played chicken with me. Apparently I was the chicken.
Next time kid. Next time.
As I advanced down the street the children were swept up behind me as if I were pulling a trawl net. The GPS on my iPhone told me my target was on the right, at the beginning of the circle. The place reminded me of Wisteria Lane. Well, I'd always wanted to meet Teri Hatcher. She could have come out of any of the 'mcmansions' here.
I was driving so slowly that when I stopped my 'catch' nearly bumped into the back. I grabbed my computer from the seat next to me and started the billing clock - in that short little instance the children were joined by five adults who came from seemingly no-where. Now I know how the ice-cream truck guy feels.
A tall, wiry boy with brown hair and freckles waited for me to open the door. I nodded to him, guy to guy - nope - he still waved - hadn't progressed to the guy-nod yet. He motioned for me to roll down the window - coolest-car-evar! He let me know. As I got out I was besieged with questions and comments. The adults were from surrounding houses and wanted to sit in McSmart - or wanted rides. I accommodated to the tune of 45 minutes of potentially billable time lost.
Eventually I made it into the house and fixed the problems but not before listening to an eight-ish year old boy ask me about the crash-worthiness of the Smart. An unusual subject for a pre-adolescent, but then - who knows more about crashes than an 8 year old boy? I discussed the four star rating with him. He was impressed.
I was impressed. All those people looking at the car. I need to hurry up and get those static signs for the new company made.