:: Electric Psychedelic Pussycat Swinger's Club ::

:: Wednesday, January 26, 2005 ::

a day of firsts

Today was a day of many firsts.

It was the first time a personal bodyguard was appointed to accompany me down the street. It was the first time I experienced the pleasure of a personal car service, riding in the back of one of those shiny black Lincoln Town Cars , and having it all paid for by the company at which I work. It was also the first time someone whom I admire tell me that they're trying to impress me.

And it was also the the first time I've ever had a knife pulled on me.

This would be the explanation for the former two firsts; the latter I'm still trying to figure out.

I thought about whether or not I was going to write in detail exactly what occurred this morning, but I'll spare you the unnecessary details of why it went down - I still can't figure that out. The simple fact is that a black dude who had the pedestrian equivalent of road rage jumped in front of me, popped open a switch-blade and held it to my stomach. He didn't demand any of my money or property. But he did make off with my sense of security. And my illusion of control.

He asked if I wanted him to "cut me open". I've imagined that at a moment like this, any victim would be terrified. But the weird part is that I wasn't. If playing poker has taught me anything, it's the ability to tell when people are bluffing. "This guy wasn't going to stab me", I thought. Or so I thought.

I calmly uttered, "Go ahead and stab me. In the middle of the day with all these people walking around us? And with those cops a block down behind you (there were no cops; definitely people walking right passed us, not noticing the blade pointed to my guts of course, but not a cop to be seen)?".

What could I do at this point except stand frozen, with the entrance to my building less than 5 meters away from it all. Taunting me. Teasing me.

After what seemed like an eternity with that knife on me, which in reality was probably only about 10-15 seconds, he popped his blade back into the handle. And at that point, I took a step back, and walked around him. I was wearing his glare on the back of my blazer. He lingered outside while I made my way to the security guard in the lobby, who was of no help because he was a 60-something year old man with gray hair and "he couldn't leave his post", but helpfully suggested I contact
9-1-1.

I laughed at this suggestion and told him "9-1-1 is a joke, man. You know that". Chuck D would've been proud. Nonetheless I turned around and made my way back to the glass revolving doors to see if there was a chance he was still outside and I entertained the idea of calling the cops. No such luck.

On the way up to my desk, I decided I wasn't going to tell anyone at work what just happened. But as I began to go through the events in my head for the first time, the poker analogy popped back into my mind:

"Sometimes people misread bluffs".

It was at this point, when all the adrenaline had subsided, that I became terrified. This guy could have seriously hurt me. Killed me, even. My hands began to shake uncontrollably and I had trouble regaining my composure. Long story short, the executives found out what had happened and the rest of the afternoon was spent logging a police report at the local precinct (the reason for the bodyguard).

The rest of the day I've been looking over my shoulders, unnerved every time someone walks by me too close, or reaches into their pockets near me on the subway platforms. I haven't been listening to my iPod.

I think what I'm feeling now might be similar to how rape victims must feel about going outside after such a terrifying event. I feel violated, man. For the rest of the day, whenever I've had to go out in public, my heart started beating uncontrollably. My stomach tightened up and so did the rest of the muscles in my chest.

That fucker took something away from me today that was more valuable than money or property. He took away my confidence.

...