Stranger Danger

DISCLAIMER: This story is not intended for audiences who posses tender hearts or motherly inclinations

Before I start my story, it should be noted that I have a hyperactive fear of strangers. I don’t like them. I always assume they’re out to get me. I have been known to run for my life to get away from seemingly harmless people just because I didn’t know them and for that reason they were a potential threat. That being said, on with my story.

I have a philosophy about Friday. I believe there are two parts to the day. First Friday is part of the week; it still has that nose to the grindstone feel about it. Second Friday, on the other hand, is part of the weekend. It is the preamble to Saturday. It is all things “TGIF.” I love Second Friday.

South Africa gets Second Friday. Work is only a half day, and everyone gets an early start on the weekend. I’m a huge fan. So, on Friday I left the office at one so that I had time to walk to the bus stop and get there a little bit before the 1:30 bus. 2:45 rolls around, and I’m still standing on the side of the road, frustrated, worried, and scheming on how to get home.

I was standing processing all of this and staring in the direction of where the bus should be coming from when I felt someone start to grab me from behind. I’m still amazed at how calm I was, I didn’t scream, I just turned to face the man who now had me wrapped in a “hug.” He was a black man with a large brimmed hat and very dark sunglasses, just so you can have a mental picture.

He started to tell me that he saw a light in me, that he thought he had seen an angel when he saw me, and he asked me what church I belong to. This is where my Mormon instincts took over for a split second; I told him I belong to the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and considered telling him more about the church. Then my brain snapped back to reality. This is a bad man, get away mode.

So I stepped away from him for a bit and listened as he jabbered on reading me verses from his bible and talking about the light I have. He kept hugging me as he talked, and because I was scared and hadn’t completely developed my get away plan yet I just let it happen. Then he asked for my phone number, I wouldn’t give it to him. He asked where I live. “Nowhere near here” was the only answer I could give and I stammered just trying to say that, I’m really bad at putting on a brave face.

He was a little frustrated with how little information I was giving him. He asked if I was shy because I have a husband. I decided Heavenly Father will forgive me for lying this time. “Yes, I do have a husband; he’s waiting at home for me.” I should have added something like “he’s a big Hungarian man with a bad temper,” but like I said I was too scared to talk, much less be witty.

Finally he asked me for some money. I only had enough to ride the bus, and I told him that. So he gave me one more tight squeeze and left. Then I broke down into tears while two women rushed to find out if I was OK and what he had asked for.

Apparently he frequents that street. He says he’s a preacher from Zambia and after talking to women he meets on the street asks for their information. The last woman that he was seen talking to had given her information. She hasn’t come back to the bus stop since. They don’t know if she’s missing or not.

Freaky? I say so.