A really long description of a near-mugging starring a superhero and a crackhead.

So I was almost mugged yesterday afternoon. Almost. Which I know... big deal right? It's not like I was mugged. But it was scary! And there's a hero in the story! So lay off me already. I was almost mugged yesterday for christsakes. Have a little compassion.

I stepped out from the office for a cigarette. I lit one, and began walking down the block as is my routine. I like to pretend I'm outside for some fresh air and exercise, not one of those dirty stationary puffers who linger by the door getting their fix. Anyway, walking and smoking makes having an expensive death-wish a little more, I don't know, ladylike.

So I'm walking, and passed a man walking toward me. He turned around, a 180, like he had changed his mind about his course, or was lost. He stopped there, behind me. Right behind me. Like all up in my personal space. That was red flag number one. There was a silence I hoped was going to be filled with him asking for directions; which happens every day in my central Village (and therefore tourist filled) work neighborhood. Instead he said, "Uh, miss, you got a cigarette miss?"

I faced him. "No. I only brought this one out with me." Which was a lie. I had two more cigarettes in my bag, which he had fixed his eyes on, which only increased his creepatude, which meant he was not getting one of my cigarettes because I don't give creepy people cigarettes.

Red flag number two came when he continued to stand there staring at my bag, and I noticed we were the only two people on the block.

I took two steps sideways. So did he. I took two steps back. So did he. Red flag three. I slid my hand in my bag to fetch my keys. Something said it'd be a good idea to have them at the ready if a mad dash back to the office was necessary, or to use as an eye-gouging weapon--I've taken a self-defense course you see. Maybe it was my nerves, or maybe it was because my purse is just a big compartmentless pocket all my crap accumulates in the bottom of, but I could not, for the life of me, find those damn keys. I did find a lip balm I thought was lost forever though, which was nice. Totally useless during a mugging, but nice.

Then, purse semi-open, key fumbling in full swing, the man stepped all the way into my personal space. Not a lunge per se, but a move that let me know he wasn't intending to give me a tip on a horse. I was, as they say, fucked.

Enter J.

For every single long-winded story I tell, there is an equally long-winded back story. And so it goes with J.

J is a forty-something man who works at a store two doors down from my office. Ages ago I struck up a conversation with him (I said "hello") and from that day on, like a stray cat who was slipped a little food, he comes running out of his store every single time I walk by. Seriously, I can't shake the guy. Normally I would tell that kind of stalker-type to kindly fuck off, but saying such a thing to J would be akin to beating a puppy to death. I'm not certain of his exact disability...he has the verbal skills and body language of a nine year old, he walks with a limp, has a strong speech impediment. So trust me, J's no more a stalker than he is a nuclear physicist. Quite the opposite in fact. Anyway, we're friends.

Each time he runs out to greet me we have the EXACT same conversation, except for my answers, for three years now:

J: Hey gaw-juice! [gorgeous]
Me: Hey J, how are you today?
J: Evie time I see you you get mawr gaw-juice.
Me: You need to get your eyes checked.
J: I soud have maweed you we-an I had the chance.
Me: My loss, J. My loss.
J: Yowr husband is a lucky man.
Me: How nice of you to say.
J: No! It's twew!
Me: Oh, you. I'll see you later on J, have a good day!
J: See you latew gaw-juice!

At which point he kisses me, very chastely, on the cheek. I know, right? The sweetest pea in the pod. Of all the peas in all the pods that ever there were.

But as lovely and kind as J is, three years of the exact same conversation over and over, sometimes several times a day, can wear on a person. Even if (I can't believe I'm saying this) the point of each encounter is to tell me I'm gorgeous. And though his quite innocent kisses and occasional hugs are always respectful and friendly and never cross a creepy line, I don't want to be kissed and hugged by him. It's a level of intimacy I'm not at all comfortable with. So I've tried, several times, to see if J and I could take a step back. Be the people who are always very happy to see one another but who don't need to talk about one's attractiveness or touch the other in order to show it. I've attempted to do so subtly, change the subject, initiate a handshake before the kiss arrives, but as you might guess subtlety is not one of J's great areas of expertise. What's left? Should I say "I know it's been okay for three years but could you please stop touching me and calling me gorgeous? It freaks me out." (See: puppy murder.)

So sometimes I avoid him. Horrible, I know. Some days, when we've already had the conversation and the kiss, I just can't bear to do it again. I look both ways when I leave the building and if the coast is clear, I run down the block in the opposite direction of his shop, turn the corner, and smoke my smoke there. But every so often he sniffs me out anyway.

Like yesterday.

"Hey gaw-juice!" J said, stepping right in between me and the man grabbing at my bag, his back to the guy, clearly (it seemed) no idea whatsoever what was going on.

"Hey J, how's it going?" I said taking his arm, leading him in a walk toward the door to my building. The mugger man, super-persistent crazy fuck he was, followed us.

"Evie time I see you you get mawr gaw-juice."

"I keep telling you to get those eyes checked." I said, trying to look casual while fishing for my keys. I found them as we arrived at the door.

"I soud have maweed you we-an I had the chance."

"My loss, J. But you'll find someone even better than me." I entered the lobby, turned, and stood in the doorway to finish our conversation, praying crazy man had admitted defeat and taken off. But he was still lingering a few feet away, waiting. For what? The chance to do much worse than snatch a purse, it occurred to me. I decided to pull J in the lobby with me and slam the door (now I feared his safety) but before I could he said, "Yowr husband is a lucky man." and gave me my kiss on the cheek, let go of the door, and turned to walk away.

Crazy fuck leapt forward, arm extended, trying to get inside the door before it closed. I lunged forward to force it shut before he could. Just as his hand met the handle J reappeared in the doorway like a jack-in-the-box, "See you latew gaw-juice!" The move startled the man so badly he nearly fell over. Finally--in the mother of all it's about time's--he ran away.

I spent the rest of the afternoon wondering whether J had purposely put himself between me and the man on the sidewalk and again at the door, or if it was happenstance. Replaying the events I decided he had to have intervened on purpose, even if reflexively so, out of instinct more than a clear understanding of the danger. I tried to get him to talk about it on my way home when J ran out to say goodnight. "Hey...how about that crazy guy earlier, huh?" As it is with off-duty super-heros he answered matter-of-factly so as not to blow his cover, and then changed the subject. "Yeah, he was weird. I saw him too. Know what?"

"What?"

"Evie time I see you you get mawr gaw-juice."

Posted by Antigeist at July 14, 2005 11:52 AM