What’re you: CHICKEN?

My Crested Butte commentary will have to wait. Vengeful Jeek posted some childhood pictures I thought I had burned in the comments section of yesterday’s blog. Something about my failure to post humiliating/incriminating stories about myself in honor of my birthday. So, baby brother Jeek, FOR YOU, I shall include one of my many “Amber Murphy” moments.

Back in my travel writing daze, I was invited on what is called a “Media Familiarization Tour.” Basically, this is a time when publicists invite you to their destination, schmooze the heck out of ya and hope you do a good writeup on their venue. I know this process well because I did it both as a publicist (schmoozer) and as a journalist (schmoozee).

Welp this particular Fam Tour was hosted by the travel and tourism board of the Dominican Republic. Basically, there were about 10 of us on this adventure trek that took us all over the DR (see my Travel Log Top 10ish sidebar for the story). There was one other athletic journalist there who delved into the many activities with me but the rest were New Yorkers who didn’t have a clue. I was the youngest in the group and felt I was trying to set a credible reputation amongst all the other established journalists. Note: I said trying. Because it didn’t take me too long to fail.

We were traveling to the interior of the DR for a white-water rafting trip. The curvy mountain roads inspired much car sickness for the others so I sat alone on the back row of our van. Upon arriving at our destination, we ate lunch and then a few of us went back to the van to grab our swim suits. Because my gear was at the back of the van, I went first. I reached beneath my seat when something FLEW out, nearly attacking me. Instinct took over and in typical Amber fashion, I freaked out. And I mean freaked out by screaming, “It’s ALIVE!!!!!”

Now, I swear this is what I said. Witness accounts differ as they all attest I instead screached, “Run for your LIVES!” A miniscule difference in messaging, wouldn’t you agree? Regardless, I soon had the entire camp running from from some unforeseen beast that was going to devour us.

I should just end the story there and let you all think I was the hero and saved the day. But that would be a lie. When we crept back to the van, we found our van driver laughing hysterically, holding his pet chicken that he had stashed under my seat. Yes, a chicken. Unbelievable. I’m glad I didn’t speak Spanish because I figured out he wasn’t all too complimentary in his commentary.

So much for my “cred” among the other journalists. I’m just hoping that chicken we coincidentally had for dinner was in no way related….

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