Where the Heck is Christopher?

It’s dark, and I’m tired. Dance class was long and exhausting, and I need to pick up food. The local Shaw’s in Raynham tends towards decent prices and selection, so I stop for a few minutes.

I leave the store with my bags in my left hand, my car key in my right. Just as I’m about to unlock my car, I make one last check around the parking lot. I’ve been checking perimeters before unlocking my car for seven years. Tonight, someone is approaching.

He’s perhaps 40 feet away, cleanly dressed, walking steadily with a black messenger bag under one arm. I watch him approach, and when he’s about 15 feet away, I put my hand out.

“Sir! Please STOP NOW!”

I’m backing away around my car in order to keep distance. There’s a line around me, if he crosses that line, I will hit him. Cross the line, wake up in the hospital. I bump into a shopping cart, but I have plenty of space.

He stops.

He’s a Japanese panhandler, selling cheap jewelry. He barely speaks English, but is very respectful. When I decline his offers, he bids me goodnight and leaves.

Mistake #1: Not remembering the shopping cart (tunnel vision).

I am very happy with how this played out. My heart rate didn’t even climb much. I was in perfect control of the entire situation, ready to apply force if he came within striking range. It was very much like the old training; watching, quiet, ready. Waiting for him to come to me.

My brother’s comment? “At 10 o’clock at night, you don’t have to say ‘please.’”

It’s dark, and I’m scared.

I see him approach from across the parking lot. He seems to be alone, but the nearby cars and buildings could hide twenty people and I’d never know. A few people are moving in the neighborhood, in the shadows, but he’s heading right for me.

My car is stopped. The tire is almost replaced, but I need just a few more seconds.

The car jack is in my hand. I hold it by my side. My heart is pounding.

I’m on the phone. “Please stay on the line, I might have a problem here.”

I can smell him coming. Alcohol, and rank poverty. He’s about my size, perhaps a little heavier, dressed in a dirty white hoodie and street pants.

“Hey man…you got a light?”

I had been driving home through Providence, down North Main Street. Not the best of neighborhoods, especially at this time of night, but it seemed quiet enough.

Quiet enough until a drunk in a big Mercedes almost ran me off the road. I blew out my left front tire jumping the curb trying to get away from him. He sat there, grinning at me, until I pulled away. My car was pulling hard, and I could hear the harsh rumble of the rim almost directly on pavement.

There were two police cruisers just up the street, and an ambulance and a fire truck. I pulled into the parking lot, and asked them if they were going to be there for a few minutes because I needed to change my tire.

“Knock yourself out, we’ll be here.”

Three minutes later, with my car jacked up and the tire off, they all drove off.

Then someone turned the parking lot lights off.

I work fast, but it’s not fast enough.

“Hey man…you got a light?”

I step away from him, and he stands by my car’s driver door. I’ve locked the car, but he could break the window in an instant.

Fifteen minutes of going back and forth. I’m trying to figure out how to get rid of him before more show up.

“Hey you like the taste of rubber?”

“That is not a question I answer.”

“Hey man, you ever been to prison?”

“No, I have never been to prison.”

“You ever been raped?”

Am I going to have to kill this creep?

I’m watching all around me. I’ve managed to get everything put away, and now I just need to get rid of this asshole before he tries to hurt me or my car.

Suddenly, two people approach from the same direction. He obviously recognizes them. I start moving to the street. I’d rather run than die.

They are not interested in me. They talk with each other, and while they’re talking, I walk quickly back to my car start it, and drive away.

Everybody won. He didn’t die, I didn’t get hurt, and I learned a lot.

Mistake #1: not going off on him like a rabid rottweiler the moment I saw him start to approach me.

Mistake #2: not being willing to beat the shit out of him when he approached within stepping distance.

Mistake #3: trusting the police.

Three important lessons, hopefully learned. Price: one good shot of adrenaline.

Also, thanks for staying on the line. I really appreciate that.