I was working for a produce company in San Francisco, delivering organic fruit and vegatables to the well off residing in the Bay Area. Part of my route was in Mill Valley, which is located on the otherside of the Golden Gate bridge. If you can imagine a bunch of rich hippie types living in the woods, you can get the gist in what this place looks resembles.
Anyway, it was my first week on the job, so the driver that was leaving was riding shotgun, while directing me through out the day. We pulled up to this house, which had a ridiculously long drive way. So there I was, humping this box of apples and what not to this monster house, and when I entered the front yard, the heebie jeepies started to run up the back of my neck. I walked up to the front door with my head on a swivel and knocked on the door.
I shrugged, put the box on the door mat, and turned around to a very old ( very white ) old man in ( very white ) pajamas. He resembled Santa that was dipped in a vat of bleach. He just stood there with this dead stare. It was like he was looking though me without blinking, nor moving. And now that I think about it, I probably had the same expression.
So, after five seconds or so, I just scurried around him while mumbling an awkward, “ Um..eh..excuse me.”
I bolted for the truck, and when I jumped inside, my ride along looked up from his book and asked how everything went. I just started up the truck, blurted out, “ I think I just seen a ghost, dude.” And kicked up dust.
Two weeks later, I had another delivery at that house, but this time an older lady answered the door. I asked her if her husband was a heavier set man with a beard. She answered yes, but how did I know? So I told her about our encounter, and of course she replied back to me that that was impossible because he had died two years prior.