You could've been sold into...

Before I begin, let me tell a brief story to illustrate one of the general dispositions of my parents towards their sons. When I was 14 or 15, my mom dropped me off at the barber to get a haircut. The plan was that I would walk home after my haircut, being that I was only 5 minutes away. So my haircut ended and I decided, instead of walking straight home, to stop at the local West Coast to check out some movies. Inevitably, I lost track of time--I think it was an hour I spent there--and decided to walk home. On the way home, my brother suddenly careened around the corner on his bike. Out of breath, he said, "oh Andrew, geez...mom called the police and the state troopers, she has no idea where you are." We booked it home--running up Colony Dr., a cop car pulled up along side us. "Is this the kid?" he said. Dave said that it was in fact me and we finished the sprint home. As soon as I walked in the door, I turned to see my mom clutching the phone with a look of utter anguish and worry on her face. She looked up and said, "Oh thank God...I didn't know where you were! I was worried sick. I called the police and the state troopers, I had everyone looking for you...I had no idea. Andrew, you could have been sold into child prostitution!"
Hatboro: population 7, 393; known for manufacturing tri-cornered hats during the revolutionary war; famous people: during the summer of 1777, George Washington ate once at the Crooked Billet Tavern in Hatboro. "You could've been sold into child prostitution!" No explanation needed.
I thought perhaps these prepubescent days of familial freak-outs would end. To my astonishment, I have another story to tell. This past week I was able to travel to Perhentian Islands (pictures in a following post) on the east coast of Malaysia to scuba dive. I was there to get my open water diving certification which means I can dive anywhere in the world (with a buddy) up to 18 meters. I saw some really cool stuff, but I digress. I informed my parents on the phone that Friday night that I would be involved in a 4-day course then I would travel a few days after. I said I would probably take a night bus back Saturday night or Sunday night. No worries, covered my bases (for the most part) and headed off to Perhentian. The week passed quickly and I found myself on a bus, half-asleep, at 12:30am. Then, my French traveller friend answered his phone and hands it to me. "Uh, its for you." I picked up the phone to hear: "Hi, this is Anastasia Vrachnos." Oh geez, how could this have happened? First of all, what happened?
Apparently, I am now a registered missing person with Princeton Public Safety. Thinking I was on a long weekend trip (and after then not hearing from me for a few days), my parents called Princeton psafety, who called a dean, who called the director of PiA (Anastasia Vrachnos) who remarkably got my friend's number who then handed me the phone. After figuring out that I was fine, Anastasia hung up and I later spoke with my parents. There was some prior miscommunication and after taking some horse tranquilizers, they settled back down :-)