SMART AND POLITE

I work in a really seedy part of town. In the daylight it appears harmless, but under the cloak of night the creeps come out to play.

Leaving work at 7:45, I knew that I wasn’t going to escape the darkness, but I thought I’d just to keep moving to keep the darkness from getting too close. Brilliantly, I made a safety call to my brother and swiftly walked myself two blocks to a busier, well-lit intersection, where I’d be much safer… or so I thought.

I noticed a young homeless man eyeballing me and eavesdropping on my conversation. Immediately, I switched to Vietnamese (at this moment I am very thankful for knowing another language) informing my brother of this creepy man. At this point, I’m in a real panic to get on the streetcar and abandon this uneasy situation... but that would be too convenient. I continue talking to my brother, this time, telling him exactly where I am, what I’m wearing and the exact route I plan on taking home. If anything were to happen to me at least they would know where to start looking.

Creepy man initiated contact.

Social norm dictates that when a person is on the phone it’s rude to interrupt. Correct? Wrong, apparently this etiquette only exists in my Miss-Manners-World.

“Do you have a token you could give me?”

I took a mental picture: Late twenties, early thirties. Black Runners. Dark Jeans. Trench coat (OH MY GOD… isn’t a trench coat the uniform for flashers, killers and rapists), an over-sized backpack (to carry his arsenal of weapons, of course) and biking gloves (GLOVES… no finger prints… OH SHIT).

“No, I don’t. Sorry.” I did not want to encourage a relationship based on a kind act. I was not feeling kind; I was feeling scared and awkward. Yet, I was still pleasant and polite. I didn’t want to offend him. After all, I did not want to be the headline on the evening news: RUDE GIRL GETS MANGLED AND KILLED.

Streetcar arrives, phone conversation over. Creepy man can’t get on without a token. I am safe… or so I thought.

He’s on.

I sit up front close to lots of people. (Well, four plus the driver… it was late. Sane and safe people get to leave work at a decent hour.) He heads to the back. Now, I’m safe… I was wrong… again.

He returns, without backpack.

“What’s your name?

I stare at him blankly.

Internal voice: Don’t give him your real name. Quick, think of something: Ingrid, Sophie, Jane… anything, just DON’T GIVE HIM YOUR REAL NAME. “Uh… Anna.”

Internal voice: Anna? You Idiot.

“Where are you going?”

Internal voice: Answer him. Keep it general. Be smart, not rude. “North.”

Internal voice: Ha, opposite direction confusion… smart and polite.

“North? Hmm?”

Internal voice: Hmm? Hmm, what? Hmm, you can read my mind and you know I’m lying? Hmm, it doesn’t matter which way I go cause you follow me anyway, and do bad things to me in a dark cornered recess… that kind of Hmm?

“I’m going to Spadina.”

Internal voice: Is he saying that to me because I’m Asian? Does he think this will bring us closer… because he’s headed to towards Chinatown we should be friends? “That’s nice.”

“I should eat this,” He proceeds to pull out a mint from his pocket. “To keep my breath smelling good, for when I kiss the girls.”

Inwardly, I grimace.

Internal voice: OH MY GOD! I don’t like where this conversation is going… Stop this conversation.

But instead, I smiled that polite half-smile that indicates, ‘I'll humor you so you won’t kill me’ and say, “That’s nice of you.”

Internal voice: What’s up with this ‘nice’ business? There’s nothing 'nice' about this whole situation, stop saying 'NICE'.

Uncomfortable silence.

“UUGGHH, Oh shit.”

Internal voice: What, What? I was ‘nice’, no reason for him to go off like this. Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god! “What’s wrong?”

Internal Voice: What are you doing? Stop talking to him. Move seats. Yell out to the driver. Stop talking to him!

“My backpack, I left it back there!” And with that, he ran to the back of the streetcar and never returned.

I ran off the streetcar, happy to be safe. SAVED BY A FORGOTTEN BACKPACK!