Death at a Winery

We all have that one friend who talks to everyone, right? The type of person who will just talk to a stranger for 20 minutes about their stubbed toe. I have a friend like that. I can’t take him anywhere without him having conversations with strangers, adding half an hour to our trip. The other day he talked to the woman who worked at Port City Java for 10 minutes about some experience he had buying donuts at the Donut Inn. And there was even a line behind us!

And don’t even get me started about going out to dinner with him. He spends half of it talking to the server. He has all his normal lines. I can predict what he’s going to say right before he says it. The sweet little server comes over and asks if we have any questions. He laughs and he says, “I have plenty of questions. Pull up a chair. Or did you just mean about the menu?” Then he laughs at how hilarious he is. I swear I think there are servers who see us sit down and then they pay a different server 50 bucks to take the table for them.

I’m kidding, it’s funny and sort of entertaining. I’m just not that kind of person. If I see someone I know in the grocery store, I will duck my head and turn the other way and hope he/she doesn’t see me. Even if I really like them! I don’t even know why I do it. I guess I just don’t particularly like talking to people.

Now, if my friend saw someone he knew in the grocery store, he would literally start running, tripping over his own feet, pushing his cart as fast as he can just to talk to some PTA mom or other acquaintance.

We recently took a little trip to the mountains. We got away for a few days. We walked around little towns and looked in all the quaint shops. Of course, my friend had to talk to every shop owner for 10 minutes about this antique or that antique or some casserole dish that his grandmother had.

During this trip, we went to some wineries. I love wineries. I do my tasting quickly, I pick my wine, and I go find a peaceful place to sit and drink and enjoy the company of the people I’m with. Obviously, my chatty friend does wineries differently.

It just so happened that the owner of the winery was the one who was doing our tasting. As you can imagine, my friend had a field day chatting with the owner. He’s really a very friendly and charming guy and people enjoy talking to him. People who enjoy talking to strangers that is. I’m not one of those people. But I just smile and drink the wine. By this point, she knows all about his record collection and his boat that he can’t drive.

Finally, the tasting is over and I pry him away from the poor owner, who probably has a job to do like running a winery, and we go outside and enjoy our wine.

We know the winery closes at five so at about 4:55 we finish our wine and collect our glasses to go return them. I can’t wait to get some dinner. I’m starving by now. I send my friend to return the glasses and I go and use the restroom.

When I come out of the restroom, of course he is talking to the owner and when he sees me, his face lights up and he says ,”the owner just asked if we would like a private tour and see where the wine is made.”

Ummm….. no.

His face is beaming with excitement. But my mind goes somewhere else. Why would the owner do that? It is closing time. Doesn’t she want to just kick everybody out so she can clean up and enjoy her evening? Is my friend really that charming and chatty that she wants to spend more time listening to him?

I got a little suspicious at that point. I do read too many thrillers and watch too much Law & Order, but I was very skeptical about this overly friendly winery owner who wants to take time out of her day, after the winery has closed, to give us a little private tour.

But of course I don’t say any of that so I just put a big smile on my face and say “ Oh! Wow! That would be amazing! That is so nice of you.”

She leads us through these heavy wooden doors to this huge dark room full of wine vats. She starts telling us about the room and how it was built by hand and with refurbished wood or something like that. I’m not listening. I’m pretending to listen but looking for the nearest exits. At this point, my friend is talking about how great he is at recycling because he rinses out every single container and lets it dry before he puts it in the recycling. Umm… does the recycling really care if it is dry or not?

She’s telling us how the temperature stays cool even on hot days. She talks about how her husband ‘s family built it. And of course, my friend is fascinated. He’s asking so many questions and talking about his similar experiences. Although he’s never owned a winery or built a room with big wine vats in it that can stay cool even in hot temperatures, I’m sure he can relate somehow.

I, on the other hand, am getting more and more suspicious the farther we go into the deep, dark, very large room. This owner could kill us and throw our bodies in one of these wine vats, and we would never be found! Never be found!

Don’t be silly I tell myself. There’s no way she can get us in those vats I think to myself. She’s not He-Man. She can’t just pick us up and toss us up and over.

She eventually leads us to a dark winding staircase. There is an awkward looking man at the top who steps aside to let us pass. I wonder if he’s her partner and they’re secretly going to kill us together.

My friend sees him, and a big old smile fills his face (oblivious that these might be our last few moments on earth) and ask him how his day was. He says, “quitting time, huh?” And then gives him a pat on the back or a high five or something like they have known each other since childhood.

Now I’m getting even more nervous because I have realized that this is how she’s going to get us in the vats. From here, it will be easy. She will just kick us over the railing, and we’ll fall headfirst into one of those vats down below. They are so perfectly placed below. I can’t imagine they are for anything else. Well, maybe wine.

I sure hope it’s one that’s filled with wine that we get thrown into. I think it would hurt if it was empty and at least if it was a full one, I can drink all the wine I want before I die there thanks to my friend being overly welcoming and trusting everybody. I give him a look, trying to let him know to stay as far away from the railing as possible, but he just smiles at me and actually leans over the railing taking it all in like it’s the most majestic view in the world.

The owner then says, as a very special treat, (which she NEVER does she says), she will show us the lab. This is where the chemist works she explains. She takes us into a small room that looks like a high school science lab with beakers, droppers, and microscopes. I’m already scanning the room looking for something I can use as a weapon.

There is a little room off the to the side. She is very excited about that and says, “Oh, come over here. Come in this room.” I put my shoulder and my head in that room, and she says, “No no, come all the way in this room! It’s soundproofed.”

What??? Soundproofed! I’m so scared I nearly pee my pants! Oh gosh, this is it. This is how we’re going down. In a soundproof wine tasting room in the middle of nowhere!

I look at my friend who has the biggest smile on his face and is just chatting away happily about music and some band he used to travel with and some soundproof recording rooms he’s been in.

He has no clue that we are about to be murdered by the winery owner. No clue!!! It’s up to me to save our lives! Us women literally have to do everything.

She explains that they need a soundproof room to taste the wine so they can taste it better. Why does it need to be quiet to taste wine? You don’t taste wine with your ears! It’s definitely an excuse to lock us in a soundproof room. I shoot my friend a terrified, “what the heck are we going to do,” face and he gives me an odd look and ignores it.

I think back and try to remember all the self-defense moves I learned back in 1999 when I took a woman’s self-defense class before going into the Peace Corps. Elbow on the collarbone was all that I could remember. I start preparing to do the elbow on the collarbone move, if needed. My friend looks at me quickly, and I do an elbow up and point to my collarbone move hoping he will understand that we must do the elbow on the collarbone move together if necessary. One on each collar bone. He looks at me a little confused but then continues chatting away happily to the winery owner.

I’m getting claustrophobic in this small, soundproofed room and I just know I have to do something fast to save our lives. When the winery owner glances at me, I quickly make the, “I’m watching you” sign that Robert De Niro makes in Meet the Parents. You know the two fingers pointing to my eyes and then out to her.

I think that scares her. She knows I’m on to her now, so she lets us out of the soundproof room. Huge sigh of relief, but we were still not out of the woods. I wouldn’t even know my way out of here. And those doors looked heavy, and I bet she locked them behind us. I pressed my body against the wall across from the railing as we made our way back to the staircase. Yes, it looks weird, but I was not getting near that railing.

She tried to let me go first down the stairs but, uh uh! No way! She wanted me to go down first so she can easily kick me down the stairs? I don’t think so, Mrs. Winery Lady. I once again do that, “I’m watching you,” sign and insist she goes first.

Then, as a special treat, she says as she’s leading us down the stairs, she will show us where they bottle the wine. She once again says she never shows anyone that. Then why? Oh, why? Is she showing us? We are not that cool. We are not that nice. We don’t even know that much about wine. Is it because my friend is so chatty that she finds it endearing? Or is it because my friend is so chatty that she plans to kill him to put the rest of the world out of their misery? And she must kill me too because I’m a witness?

I’m very aware of my surroundings. I’m watching everything. I’m not even listening as my friend chats about some article he wrote for some magazine about some brewery and how their canning station looked a lot like this bottling one. Blah blah blah, he’s sounding like the teacher from Snoopy to me with no realization we are in imminent danger!

I must get us out of here and fast. The longer we stay, the more opportunities we have to be murdered, and the more relaxed we feel, the more we will let down out guard. Well, not me. Because I’m onto her.

I can say I need to use the restroom!  But then she might lead me to a private dark restroom and lock me in while she murders chatty Cathy first.

Then, I had a brilliant idea.

“Oh no! I think I left my phone in the restroom in the tasting room.” I exclaimed, with a worried look on my face. “I’m expecting some important work emails. How do I get out of here?”

The winery owner looks disappointed.

I start walking quickly in the direction I thought we came from. After a quick scan of the room, I realize I was heading the wrong way. I spy the big heavy doors on the other side, and I walk as fast as I can to them. She must’ve had some secret button in her pocket to unlock them when she realized her plan was foiled because they push right open when I get to them. I look back to make sure my friend was following me because I really wanted to save his life also, but, if it came down to it, I would have to make a tough decision.

Luckily my friend and the owner were coming out of the door. I went into the restroom knowing I wouldn’t find anything.

I come out to more chatting, but I quickly cut my friend off and thank the owner politely.

I drag my friend outside as fast as I can.

“What in the world was wrong with you in there???” My friend looks at me with a concerned expression.

“We almost died!” I exclaimed.

“What?!?!”

“That winery owner was going to kill us! She was going to murder us! I saved our lives.”

“Ok….. thank you?”

Hmmm… I question my behavior just a little at that point when we are out in the sunshine and fresh air. I guess maybe it’s possible she wasn’t going to kill us and was just being polite BUT better safe than sorry and it’s always best to be prepared. The world can be a dangerous place.

“Geez, I can’t take her ANYWHERE,” my friend whispers to himself as he walks to the car and I can hear the eye roll in his voice.