My grandma is a model citizen. She donates blood like clockwork, she engages in consistent community service, and she only recently retired as records queen in the police department of my hometown. While I was in my formative years, Grandma's citizenship left its mark on my psyche. Let's delve into a smidge of history...
Through her employment with Idaho's finest, Grandma was privy to the goings-on in the not-so-seamy underbelly of our little corner of the world. Idyllic as our home was, she knew that all it takes is one bad person to change a life, a family, a community. She knew the patterns and profiles of perpetrators. As the matriarch in a family with lots of daughters and granddaughters, she wanted us to be savvy and safe. She wanted her girls to plan ahead, to think, and to be dialed in on potentially lifesaving information. Every so often, therefore, my e-mail box would flash with a little nugget detailing the latest techniques of rapists, kidnappers, and Those People Your Mother {or Grandmother} Warned You About.
Occasionally, I'd find myself reading an epistle that directed me exactly where to aim strategic blows at a bad guy {Aim for eyes, nose, and fella-bits, and be sure to get a good look at his mug so you can give an accurate description to police}.
Or some cautionary instructions addressing what to do if you find yourself stuffed into the trunk of a car and being driven away to a hideous fate {attempt to kick out the brake lights/taillights/blinkers from the inside; if possible, wave your hand through the opening. At the very least, try to disable the lights so as to get the Bad Person pulled over.}.
Or {this one was sent to me after a rash of assaults on female runners}, how about a list of the top characteristics that an assailant looks for when selecting a target {long hair--gives them something by which to drag you off; earphone wearers--you are distracted and less tuned into your surroundings; consistent timing and route of your run--they can predict your pattern}.
This was Grandma's way of warning her nubile, naive grandchild about the wiles of wicked folk. It was her effort to present some realism about the perils of being ignorant to dangerous places and people. A public service announcement looking to inoculate me with a few street smarts, if you will.
Sooo, couple these nuggets of sage advice with my overactive imagination and the fact that some of my weaker moments have involved soaking up some permutations of Lifetime Television/CSI: The Very Scary Episodes/Readers' Digest Drama in Real Life, and you'll understand that I'm a little paranoid when I catch a creepy vibe from someone on the street. {The Husby mocks me for my mental readiness on a regular basis. But then at six feet and 200 lbs, he doesn't exactly seem like the type of morsel that could get dragged off into the woods by someone with evil intent.}
That background brings us to the story:
This weekend, I decided to go out and shoot some photos.
Some nighttime photos.
Some nighttime photos all by myself.
Some nighttime photos all by myself on an interstate bridge overlooking the river.
In a questionable quadrant of the neighborhood.
This is where I say to myself, "Self, that was a departure into colossal dumbassedness." Grandma would probably say something similar. In more ladylike terms, of course.
But I was a completely distracted in my quest for the perfect photo-op, and off I went.
After a stroll, I found a place with the sweet spot combination of lighting and vista. I stood on the bridge sidewalk, fiddling with the tripod and wrangling the perfect shutter speed. Cars zipped past, kicking up little breezes and rumbling the pavement under my feet. And when I looked up from the viewfinder, silhouetted against the flow of headlights, there was a man striding down the sidewalk. This particular pedestrian and I were on the only sidewalk on that bridge. Traffic was flying inches from me on one side, a lengthy drop to the railroad tracks and the river on the other side. Nowhere for me to sidestep out of the way, nowhere to go. As Dude got closer, I saw that he looked mad. Actually, he looked pissed off. And he was walking and glaring straight at me. I gulped out an unconvincing "Hi", and smiled at him. He kept walking, kept glaring, and didn't respond. Just kept striding ahead and staring me down.
That's when Grandma's notes bounded to the front of my brain, and I felt a jolt of adrenaline. I actually felt the chemical rush in my body as I balled up my fists and got ready for Dude and his dirty looks. If he was going to bring his dirty looks and who-knows-what kind of intentions into my space, I was going to let him know exactly what this little girl is made of. I wiped the smile from my face, got a firm grip on my tripod {the better to wallop him with}, clenched my other fist around my keys in case I needed to gouge something, and looked right into his face.
Dude walked forward with a purpose and drew even with me. My gut clenched as I summoned every bit of rage in my arsenal and got ready to pummel his eyes, his nose, and his fella-bits if the need arose. {I noticed that the bridge railing looked like a good place to self-defensively bash a Bad Person's head.} Dude strode alongside and turned his creepy, pissed-off face toward me as he stalked by. This man did not give off a good vibe. I returned glare for glare and pivoted around in case he had any ideas about getting behind me. He kept shooting daggers at me over his shoulder. One move from the offense, and I was ready to freak out on him. He kept walking away, kept staring back at me with angry eyes.
With that, he turned away and just kept going.
I stood there and watched him walk away until I couldn't see him anymore. Just to prove that nobody tells me where to go or what to do, I shot my dang photos, looking over my shoulder the whole time.
And then I ran home as fast as I could, paranoia nipping at my heels with every step.
Moral of the story:
Listen to grandma. Be street smart.
And don't watch any of that made-for-TV, mess-with-your-inner-fears, play-off-your-paranoias junk ever, ever again.
Portland skyline at night, October 2009 ~ by Katie
