OABK: A Follow-up on Fear and Sensitivity

After an overwhelming response to this post’s predecessor (On almost being kidnapped), I figured I should follow up with something.

But first and foremost, a huge thank you to everyone who took the time to read my post. I guess commentary is good either way, right?

That being said, I wasn’t really expecting any negative feedback. Why? Because last week’s post was this: Me telling a story of something that happened to me over the summer and how it made me feel. Simple as that. My goal was certainly not to unleash a societal commentary on what is or is not “appropriate” to post about on a personal blog. It was merely “here’s something that happened to me and how it made me feel.” So I definitely didn’t expect so many people to have opinions on my opinionless post – and I definitely didn’t mean to insult anyone by my story.

This week, I’m doing something I didn’t think I would have to do. I’m defending my work.

Some negative responses seemed to carry similar themes.

1. My post was insensitive to actual victims of kidnapping.
2. The encounter was merely “harassment” or a joke, and it wasn’t actually a big deal – it happens all of the time. My post was “over-dramatic” and I should just “get over it already.”
3. I wasn’t actually almost kidnapped.

Let’s work from the bottom up on this one.

I know the hubbub of a response to my post was probably based on the post’s title. Calling a post “On almost being kidnapped” was bound to get views from the start – it’s just one of those clickable reads. Choosing that title, though, didn’t mean I was hung up on something and trying to create some dramatization of a life event.

What it actually was: A reflection of the fear I felt on that day.

On that day, at the time of the event (and as a disclaimer, last week’s disclaimer read, “This post was written in the week of August 12, shortly after the incident”), I feared that I could actually get kidnapped. The fear was real and raw and something I had never felt before. And that was the root of the title and post altogether. An expression of fear.

Fear is pretty individualistic, isn’t it? You might’ve thought I was overreacting. I’m sure some people think that fearing a dog or a spider is a bit of an overreaction, too, wouldn’t you agree? But to those people, the fear is real, and that’s all that matters.

Now, I can look back and say that my chances of getting “actually kidnapped” were probably pretty slim (thank God). But it doesn’t change my momentary feeling of “Oh my gosh, what do I do if the guys get out of the van? Do I run? Do I fight?”

On point numero dos, we can’t deduce people’s situations when we weren’t there ourselves. This is one of those times where you just gotta trust. Trust that when I said it was more than two guys driving by and cat-calling, it was actually more than that. And remember that disclaimer that started off the post? I literally penned that puppy nearly 2 months ago, right after it happened. No worries folks, I’m over it, living and loving life – I’m not sitting in Starbucks playing a “woe is me” card over something that happened in summer. I wrote a story about a moment in my life and thought it was worth sharing – simple as that.

Now the doozy – point #1. In saying my story is insensitive to actual kidnapping victims, I can just offer the following. I was in an unknown situation where I feared something worse could happen, but I ended up just fine. Consider this: A kidnapping victim escapes his/her attacker and describes a fear from captivity that the attacker would kill. A terrifying fear. Would the victim’s retelling of the story, including the fear of death, be “insensitive” to kidnapping victims who were tragically killed? Unrelated to kidnappings, is boasting a new job or promotion through Facebook insensitive to those who were just fired? Is talking about being lucky in love insensitive to those who are recovering from a breakup?

If anything, I’d like to think an actual kidnapping victim could best relate to a story about fear – they tragically lived fear.

 

I chose to live in a big city, in a way, because of its imperfections. And now, city life’s imperfections are allowing me to grow and strengthen as a person. I guess it’s all a part of this “blossoming” that this blog is all about.

I really appreciate all of the commentary that I got from that post. Because it means that people are taking the time out of their insanely busy schedules to read what I had to say. And thank you to the people who shared their own frightening encounters with me – it’s nice to share support with one another and offer a friendly boost.

Next hump day, stay tuned for something a little less heavy – some inspirational know-how or happiness booster or post about fashion or love.

For now, on a completely unrelated note, check out this ridiculously adorable kitten-gone-wrecking-ball. No worries – it’s G-rated and sledgehammer-free.

 

lovelovelove,

E

On almost being kidnapped.

Disclaimer: This post was written in the week of August 12th, shortly after the incident. 

My beautiful city at dusk. Not, however, the location of what follows.

This week I almost got kidnapped. If that didn’t grab your attention, you either live way too exhilarating of a life or you’re way too numb to the realities of city living. Either way, start your memoir now. But back to the hook. On this day of blogging, I’m counting my blessings that yesterday I wasn’t scooped away into a van to a very, very, scarily different life.

Let me explain…

 

My blog is subtitled “The life of a blossoming city girl.” It’s about time I give you a scoop on real city life. Which, ironically, I’m just beginning to discover. The real stuff. The hardcore real city life. Not the urban university lifestyle – that’s just living in a bubble within city walls. At school, we’re shielded by the realities of college life, and we get to venture out downtown for a night out MAYBE once a week. Probably once every two. And then exams come along and BAM you’re a caffeinated hermit for the next three.

But this summer, after taking a month-long European hiatus to study abroad, I started interning at a deliciously glamorous fashion boutique in Olde City (one of my personal Philly faves). The fun part? Instead of pulling a two-week sublet deal, I got to crash with Boyfriend for a bit while starting work. COOL, RIGHT?

Now this whole I-almost-got-taken situation. Boyfriend had just moved into this adorbs apartment complex in suburban Philadelphia. Awesome place. But the surrounding neighborhood? Let’s just say, you might want to invest in a good pepper spray and martial arts classes.

A free shuttle circles the complex, supposedly on the reg, to pick people up and take them to various hotspots nearby, like the Target (Heaven sent) or my destination – the train station. My plan was to shuttle to the train, train to a main station in Center City Philly, and then walk a few blocks to work in Olde City. Sounded perfect, until learning that the shuttle stops at 8 a.m.

First off, who the heck only goes places before 8 o’clock in the morning? WHAT GOOD DOES THAT DO? NONE. THAT’S WHAT GOOD IT DOES. IT DOES NONE.

My journey, chronologically:

11:09 a.m. – Get rejected by the shuttle driver to sympathetic looks from the Target-bound girls on the shuttle. Good thing I perfected the whole “but I just moved in and have no idea where I’m going or what I’m doing please help” look in preparation for moments like this.

11:11 – I’m finagling my way with the driver, pulling that “but I have no idea where I’m going or what I’m doing please help I MIGHT DIE” look. A woman (probably Target-bound, I’m jealous) gives me the low down on exactly how to get to my destination. It includes the following: “Take the bus to the subway, subway one direction to ___ stop, transfer trains and get on another subway going the opposite direction, then arrive at your train station.” …At least she was nice.

11:13 – The shuttle driver who kicked me OFF the shuttle picks me back up and drives me down the street to the bus stop. At least he didn’t just drive alongside me like “Sucks to suck, #sorrynotsorry.”

11:15 – I’m waiting at the bus stop. At a big intersection in broad daylight. Safe, right?

11:21 – Two creeps in a van – a business van, mind you – are at the stoplight, waving. I’m waiting for my bus, oblivious to the fact that the two men are waving. At me.

11:22 – Said creeps pull up right IN FRONT OF ME with the window down. s*&@.

11:22.30 – “Where you tryna go sweetie? I’ll kick my friend out right now and we’ll take you there.” – Van driver. To the dude’s offer (tempting as it was…), I responded with a silent death glare, which I really wish would’ve severely burned a hole in his eye socket. Please, please, please dear Lord baby Jesus do not let these guys get out of the van. Stay in the van. Do not get out of the van. Please.

11:25 a.m. – The light turns green again, and the idiot creepers in a van are forced to carry on with their sick day. I’m shaken.

If their vehicle was anything but a van, it would have been a TAD less horror movie-esque. At first, I didn’t even realize what was happening. A numbing shock started to come over me as I entered fight or flight mode. I had had my guard up anyway, because I was well aware of the neighborhood and my surroundings, my alone-ness, and the attention I had placed upon myself by standing near the stoplight in cute work clothes (again, the fashion boutique). But this was unexpected. I didn’t think that my first day trying to fly public transportation solo, I’d be approached by people who would be willing to hurt me. People who, maybe if I’d have responded differently, would have actually tried to hurt me.

That hit me hard. My eyes swelled with tears. The sweat that had formed on my brow from the summer city heat felt like it just froze as I stood there numb and hot and cold and shaking and scared all at once. I just stood there in the same spot, praying that I didn’t look like a flustered easy target.

I didn’t want to wait for a dumb bus anymore. As much as I love my job, an unpaid internship isn’t worth risking my safety.

I’m standing there contemplating my next move – what if the guys come back and get out of the van? What if NEW creeps arrive? How can I defend myself against people who have height, strength, and numbers against me?

And then, what I’m sure was divine intervention arrives in the form of a lone taxi, waiting at the stoplight. I hadn’t seen a single one yet, and not a single one was in sight thereafter, but I didn’t need a lightning bolt from the sky to know that that was my new mode of transit to the train station. Sweaty and flustered, I booked it across the street to the taxi.

It cost me $20 in total to get to work that day.

Obviously, I made it SOMEWHERE with WiFi if I’m here to tell the tale. I made it to the train station, where I grabbed a cinnamon soft pretzel as food therapy, and walked to work, and at the end of the day, I trained home, and Boyfriend picked me up at the station (since the shuttle doesn’t run past 6 p.m. either, WHAT A SHOCK!).

In the end, I just have to thank the Lord for getting me home safely. For a taxi at the exact right time and place, for people who are kind enough to stop what they’re doing and give you a helping hand or a reassuring word. And for my beyond amazing Boyfriend, who had chocolate and a massage waiting for me after my rough day.

Here’s hoping this city girl continues to blossom on the scare-free side of city life.

If you have any crazy city stories, share them below!

lovelovelove,

E