Why I call cabs...

Maybe no one else has this problem, but in addition to the ever-present, "Anyone who doesn't vote for my candidate is an IDIOT" mass emails, I also get all these random forwards of crime warnings. "Watch out, there's a psycho pretending to sell women perfume in parking lots who gets into your car and kidnaps you..." "Watch out there's a gang of psychos who require a virgin's foot as the price of initiation...." (Yeah, that was from my super-religious and, apparently, still-hopeful Aunt). "Watch out there's a five-foot-10-inch white man suspected of 11 recent rapes in your (now former) neighborhood."

I did appreciate that last one.

The rest I try to ignore. Statistically, crime is rare. On any given day the odds are on your side. When I moved to the big, bad city, I told myself that if something ever happened, I would cooperate. Be reasonable. Muggers are people too. Most people don't want trouble, right? I was set.

Yeah. Turns out, the mugger ended up afraid of me.

I'm really not THAT mean. I swear. He just had bad timing.

First, I don't like rain. And it was pouring.

I also don't like drunk people (drunk people who are not me or people I hang out with when we are not drunk, anyway).

Finally, I really, really, really don't like walking home from the bar alone. In the rain. Especially not when I was under the impression that, maybe, perhaps, I had unofficial PLANS with someone. In hopes of making these plans reality, I had even turned down a ride from the people I went out with. Looking back, the invitation, "My boss is taking me to a bourbon tasting and then I'd like to meet up with you after..." was all kinds of red flaggery. At the time, though, I was furious.

I found out later my intended escort passed out on someone's couch before midnight with, he later claimed, a half finished text to me in the phone still clutched to his heaving drunken bosom. (Of COURSE he tried to text, right?)

Meanwhile, I was alone. Off I staggered, holding my coat over my head in a pointless attempt to stay dry. Other night clubs began to empty. The side streets were scattered with drunks who hooted at everyone. I really wasn't paying attention until I realized one of them was grabbing for my damn ARM.

I am normally pretty nice about drunken passes. There's no point in embarrassing someone. You keep it cool. Pull back. Let them know who's boss.

Did I mention I was a leeetle tipsy?

What was intended to be a gentle, dignity-saving reproof came out as, "Would you FUCK OFF! I don't even LIKE MEN! I AM A LESBIAN TONIGHT! A LESBIAN!"

He looked surprised. We both were, actually.

He tried to say something else. I decided I was too tired to deal with this. I gave up trying to hold my coat over my head and began to run.

He started running too. It seemed unusually persistent.

He also had friends. Who were all running down the street as well.

I'm thinking, "Stupid drunks."

I kept yelling, "I don't know what is WRONG with you? OBVIOUSLY I DON'T WANT TO TALK RIGHT NOW!"

At which point one of them grabbed for the purse again.

I realized that there had been some, rather serious, miscommunication.

Fortunately by then I had a pretty good lead.