Never Accept a Ride from a Stranger

Because these things tend only to happen to me, it seemed appropriate that I catalog it as one of my everyday escapades.  Some friends from work were getting together one Friday night recently, for drinks at a local dive bar.  I immediately recognized this as both a fantastic way to meet some new people and to unwind after a week of work stress.  For a solid 24 hours before said rendezvous was set to commence, I worked every possible angle to try to nail down a ride, a plan for carpooling, something, so that I wouldn’t have to drive my lone self, downtown, to a shady dive bar, on State Street surrounded by an abandoned building to the North and a closed Mexican restaurant to the South.  This situation just screams to me as a perfect chance to be kidnapped.  But, because I am embracing my new found sense of self and the adventures life holds, I bucked up (after many hours of stress and anxiety) and I went, by myself.  After circling the block several times searching for the least terrifying place to park where I would be least likely to be mugged, I selected street parking outside the Audi dealership.  I feel that this was a good decision for the safety of my car, but still was unsure about the safety for me.  And this was what we call “intuition”.  On my short walk to the lovely drinking establishment, a car pulls up beside me, I glance over, (first mistake) and make eye contact (second mistake).  The creeper in the car rolls down his window and indeed asks me if I need a ride.  I politely declined and added some speed to my step and hurried along into the safety of the sketchy dive bar.  The good news is that I was not kidnapped, or mugged and I was able to prove yet again that this kind of stuff makes my overreacting neuroses all completely and utterly reasonable and not even remotely unusual or concerning.  As a side note, a very lovely time was had that evening and a nice gentleman walked me to my car afterward to ensure no further kidnapping efforts were attempted.