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snarpI came back from a walk a few hours ago, just as it was starting to get dark. As I was getting close to the house, a passing car slowed nearly to a stop for no apparent reason. There was no one else on the street, and it didn't stop anywhere - it just sat there until I got into the yard and half-way up to the front step, then sped up again and left. Telling myself I was being paranoid, I tried to see the license plate number, but it was already too far away. The car was an old sedan with tinted windows, of the sort maidens are oft murdered in, in these degenerate days.
(Standards have fallen immensely! In the old days we killed our maidens on silk sheets in a canopy bed prepared for her wedding night, under a plum tree blooming at the edge of her family graveyard, which had become infested with fox demons, or in Spain*.)
I unlocked the door, went in, took off my shoes, and took my key downstairs to put it in my purse so I wouldn't leave without it. I got myself a glass of water before discovering that I'd made tea just before leaving (that I did this is a measure of my powers of concentration recently). I microwaved it and took both the teacup and the water glass into the living room with me, one in each hand. I sat down. Before I could put them down on the table, I heard what sounded like the back door slamming very loudly.
I sat there with the cups in my hands for a few seconds trying to convince myself that it was from next door. Unfortunately, I could only convince myself that it was possible it was from next door - it's very windy tonight, but I've been in this house in storms before, and I've never heard anything this loud before unless somebody had actually opened the back door.
The living room is near the front door, and my room, where I'd put my key, is near the back door. I got up, still holding both cups, and walked over to the table where the dish with the spare key sits - the dish was there, but the key wasn't.
After standing there ruminating over my unlikely presence in a horror movie or paranormal romance for a moment - I mean, I've lost a little weight? But not that much. Also, my lower back remains free of tattoos with ambiguous occult significance. - I put the cups down on the table, unlocked the front door, realized I'd taken my phone out of my pocket, and nearly panicked until I remembered putting it down on the living room table. I got it and, apparently feeling I'd wasted too much time with that, went outside without without putting my shoes on, unless I'd just forgotten I'd left them by the door. I walked around back to see if either of the doors or the gate was open.
For whatever reason, if one of them had been, I think my personal threshold of risk would not have been met - I probably would have decided the wind had blown it open, and searched the house myself. They were all closed, though, and for whatever reason that option struck me as the more disturbing one. So at that point, I got the phone out and called 911. They said they'd send someone, but it might be a while - so I hung up not entirely sure what happened next in the Threatened Woman process. Usually either I would already be dead or engaged in combat, depending upon the genre; a cat would have revealed itself as the source of my startlement, as a prelude to the true attack; or I would be exploring unwisely.
Obviously, though, in real life, when you have taken the step of calling 911, you have made the decision that you're not going back in the house. However, you will note that I made no mention earlier of putting on my coat, that the weather was bad, and that I was still barefoot.
At precisely that moment, what I assume to be the Reward For Good Decisions side of the Threatened Woman Story interceded, and the woman from across the street, who I've talked to once or twice, pulled in and asked me if there was any particular reason I was standing out in the driveway looking confused about my place in the world. She let me wait in her house until the police showed up, and loaned me some fuzzy socks and sandals.
Two police officers came, searched the house, and found no one, but said that one of the back doors had been ajar a little. (I hadn't checked to see if they were locked, just whether they were open or closed.) Probably it had been somehow been unlocked and the wind got it. I put my shoes on, brought the socks and sandles back to the neighbor, got her phone number, and went around the house myself to turn on all the lights and reassure myself everything was fine. My tea had gotten cold again, but I drank it anyway, by this time having no energy left to apply to the microwave.
It strikes me that I don't think I actually know of anyone who's ever told me they've been harassed by someone who began by slowing the car down, looking at them for a second, and then driving away without ever cracking the window or honking or anything. I don't think I know of anyone who's been the target of break-in by a stranger, either - I mean, I know people who've been assaulted by strangers, and I know of people who've been threatened by a burglar, but I can't think of anyone who's been assaulted by a stranger who came into the house specifically for that purpose. I assume that these patterns of behavior are pretty uncommon in the real world. But because they're such common elements in stories we see on TV and read about in books, neither I, the 911 operator, the neighbor, nor either of the police officers questioned why I was worried about this. The operator, when I mentioned the car slowing down, asked me immediately if I'd written down the tags.
(Well, I mean - being me, I was psychoanalyzing myself about it the whole time, and I'm sure the officers didn't want to tell someone "don't be so paranoid next time." I assume that competent law enforcement officers develop detailed taxonomies of paranoids, and say that straight-out only to certain species described therein.)
I don't mean that I think was a wrong to call - I made it clear to the operator that I'd already gotten out of the house and hadn't actually seen anybody, and they knew what the weather was like, so I've got to assume that they prioritized accordingly. I mean, I'm in a ridiculous upper-class neighborhood, so I don't doubt that I got an unusually quick response. But I'm not sure what I could do to balance out those sorts of internal issues in the process of calling 911. Faked a Spanish accent or pretended to be a guy? Both problematic in their own unique ways!
I record this here because - to give you an idea of how spoiled I am - ending up in this particular part of the The Horrors Of Being Female story was a totally new experience for me. To make it all the weaker of an anecdote, if the stereotypical Jerk Guy were to ask me, "So had you been listening to stories about burglars or something?" or "Were you starting your period?" I would be forced to say "yes" and "probably, but I might not know for a few more hours."
-
* I've been reading Kaoru Mori's blog. She feels that the rest of Europe used to have funny ideas about Spain. Regarding the opera "Carmen": "when you watch this Opera, you get the idea that in the eyes of the rest of Europe at the time, Spain had a slightly exotic air to it - that it was a strange and mysterious country, is I think the feeling. That it wouldn't be at all surprising for a woman like Carmen to live there."
(Standards have fallen immensely! In the old days we killed our maidens on silk sheets in a canopy bed prepared for her wedding night, under a plum tree blooming at the edge of her family graveyard, which had become infested with fox demons, or in Spain*.)
I unlocked the door, went in, took off my shoes, and took my key downstairs to put it in my purse so I wouldn't leave without it. I got myself a glass of water before discovering that I'd made tea just before leaving (that I did this is a measure of my powers of concentration recently). I microwaved it and took both the teacup and the water glass into the living room with me, one in each hand. I sat down. Before I could put them down on the table, I heard what sounded like the back door slamming very loudly.
I sat there with the cups in my hands for a few seconds trying to convince myself that it was from next door. Unfortunately, I could only convince myself that it was possible it was from next door - it's very windy tonight, but I've been in this house in storms before, and I've never heard anything this loud before unless somebody had actually opened the back door.
The living room is near the front door, and my room, where I'd put my key, is near the back door. I got up, still holding both cups, and walked over to the table where the dish with the spare key sits - the dish was there, but the key wasn't.
After standing there ruminating over my unlikely presence in a horror movie or paranormal romance for a moment - I mean, I've lost a little weight? But not that much. Also, my lower back remains free of tattoos with ambiguous occult significance. - I put the cups down on the table, unlocked the front door, realized I'd taken my phone out of my pocket, and nearly panicked until I remembered putting it down on the living room table. I got it and, apparently feeling I'd wasted too much time with that, went outside without without putting my shoes on, unless I'd just forgotten I'd left them by the door. I walked around back to see if either of the doors or the gate was open.
For whatever reason, if one of them had been, I think my personal threshold of risk would not have been met - I probably would have decided the wind had blown it open, and searched the house myself. They were all closed, though, and for whatever reason that option struck me as the more disturbing one. So at that point, I got the phone out and called 911. They said they'd send someone, but it might be a while - so I hung up not entirely sure what happened next in the Threatened Woman process. Usually either I would already be dead or engaged in combat, depending upon the genre; a cat would have revealed itself as the source of my startlement, as a prelude to the true attack; or I would be exploring unwisely.
Obviously, though, in real life, when you have taken the step of calling 911, you have made the decision that you're not going back in the house. However, you will note that I made no mention earlier of putting on my coat, that the weather was bad, and that I was still barefoot.
At precisely that moment, what I assume to be the Reward For Good Decisions side of the Threatened Woman Story interceded, and the woman from across the street, who I've talked to once or twice, pulled in and asked me if there was any particular reason I was standing out in the driveway looking confused about my place in the world. She let me wait in her house until the police showed up, and loaned me some fuzzy socks and sandals.
Two police officers came, searched the house, and found no one, but said that one of the back doors had been ajar a little. (I hadn't checked to see if they were locked, just whether they were open or closed.) Probably it had been somehow been unlocked and the wind got it. I put my shoes on, brought the socks and sandles back to the neighbor, got her phone number, and went around the house myself to turn on all the lights and reassure myself everything was fine. My tea had gotten cold again, but I drank it anyway, by this time having no energy left to apply to the microwave.
It strikes me that I don't think I actually know of anyone who's ever told me they've been harassed by someone who began by slowing the car down, looking at them for a second, and then driving away without ever cracking the window or honking or anything. I don't think I know of anyone who's been the target of break-in by a stranger, either - I mean, I know people who've been assaulted by strangers, and I know of people who've been threatened by a burglar, but I can't think of anyone who's been assaulted by a stranger who came into the house specifically for that purpose. I assume that these patterns of behavior are pretty uncommon in the real world. But because they're such common elements in stories we see on TV and read about in books, neither I, the 911 operator, the neighbor, nor either of the police officers questioned why I was worried about this. The operator, when I mentioned the car slowing down, asked me immediately if I'd written down the tags.
(Well, I mean - being me, I was psychoanalyzing myself about it the whole time, and I'm sure the officers didn't want to tell someone "don't be so paranoid next time." I assume that competent law enforcement officers develop detailed taxonomies of paranoids, and say that straight-out only to certain species described therein.)
I don't mean that I think was a wrong to call - I made it clear to the operator that I'd already gotten out of the house and hadn't actually seen anybody, and they knew what the weather was like, so I've got to assume that they prioritized accordingly. I mean, I'm in a ridiculous upper-class neighborhood, so I don't doubt that I got an unusually quick response. But I'm not sure what I could do to balance out those sorts of internal issues in the process of calling 911. Faked a Spanish accent or pretended to be a guy? Both problematic in their own unique ways!
I record this here because - to give you an idea of how spoiled I am - ending up in this particular part of the The Horrors Of Being Female story was a totally new experience for me. To make it all the weaker of an anecdote, if the stereotypical Jerk Guy were to ask me, "So had you been listening to stories about burglars or something?" or "Were you starting your period?" I would be forced to say "yes" and "probably, but I might not know for a few more hours."
-
* I've been reading Kaoru Mori's blog. She feels that the rest of Europe used to have funny ideas about Spain. Regarding the opera "Carmen": "when you watch this Opera, you get the idea that in the eyes of the rest of Europe at the time, Spain had a slightly exotic air to it - that it was a strange and mysterious country, is I think the feeling. That it wouldn't be at all surprising for a woman like Carmen to live there."
no subject
Date: 2010-03-31 10:27 pm (UTC)Being similarly afraid of creepy people and getaway cars, I'd totally flip if a spare key was missing after that and probably see about getting the locks changed. It been about five years and several dwellings since my personal encounter with a Creepy, and I still have nights where i go around checking all the locks/turning on lights/
Totally agree with Kaoru Mori, at least as far as England was concerned. The Basque and Muslim populations especially.
Dunno if you are familiar with Peter Wimsey, but "The Incredible Elopement of Lord Peter Wimsey' is a short story featuring him that is set in the basque region precisely because the villain needed a remote and alien place to get rid of someone. He feels he'll keep is reputation in the 'modern' world that way, and would have if he hadn't acted suspiciously on his return,
no subject
Date: 2010-04-01 07:16 pm (UTC)I did read that story! It was very weird. I'm not sure Sayers knew how to write about places that were not England.
no subject
Date: 2010-04-01 09:16 pm (UTC)I do consider her above average in terms of Brits of that time, considering she wrote a lot of those before Hitler was widely regarded as a problem. I think some of my favorite bits in Gaudy Night are the conversations where people are trying to articulate how the school would change if the movement spread to England, and its pretty clear not everyone considers it worth stopping.
no subject
Date: 2010-03-31 04:02 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-03-31 08:25 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-03-31 04:35 am (UTC)It's happened to me -- when I was in my early twenties, living in a very sketchy neighborhood in Philadelphia, an older man (forties or fifties at least) in a big white sedan trailed me at a slow crawl for several blocks when I was just trying to walk to the El. Broad daylight, middle of the afternoon, no traffic on the streets to justify his speed, no sign of car trouble -- he'd been going at a normal driving speed until he got close to me. Didn't honk, didn't roll down the windows, didn't say a word, didn't need to -- just the slow down to keep pace with me was plenty to creep me the fuck out. I don't know if he would have stopped or driven off eventually, as I was able to make my escape into the train station before it reached that point. And I think it tells you a lot about how badly I was skeeved out that a grubby, stinky El station built over a street that was a known street-prostitution crawl, where the stairs to the platform were littered with used crack vials, occasional syringes, and once, I am not making this up, the empty box from an inflatable "love sheep", felt like a sanctuary.
I've had various other unpleasant run-ins with drivers while being guilty of Pedestrian While Female -- the usual sort of hey-baby catcalls and honking, a couple cases where jerks deliberately sped up and swerved towards me when I was in a crosswalk with the light in my favor, creeps slowing down and pulling up to the curb to make nasty sexual remarks about me *and* my dog...but none of them were half as scary as slow-crawl stalker dude. Two decades later, and I still get freaked out and angry and scared if a car is following me too closely when I'm walking through a parking lot -- the rational side of my mind knows perfectly well they're just hoping for a spot, but that really doesn't help much to defuse the triggeryness of it all.
TL;DR: I agree, you made a good, prudent call. Second-guessing your instincts and rationalizing away your sense of danger for fear of being bothersome or looking hysterical, etc. is an all-too-common, and dangerous, pattern.
no subject
Date: 2010-03-31 04:07 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-03-31 08:24 pm (UTC)I think it was the better thing to do, but I always feel this urge to analyze my behavior in the wake of snap decisions. I've made a sacred vow not to worry about looking hysterical if I think something's wrong. If I am incorrect and some clever person chooses to make that call about it, then - should the call-making be choreographed in a manner visible to me - I shall simply make the Instrument Of The Patriarchy call about them in a manner visible to them. Also visible to the internet, if it can be conveniently arranged.
no subject
Date: 2010-03-31 09:29 pm (UTC)I think it was the better thing to do, but I always feel this urge to analyze my behavior in the wake of snap decisions. I've made a sacred vow not to worry about looking hysterical if I think something's wrong.
*nods* That is an EXCELLENT vow. Nothing wrong with self-examination after the fact; it's only an issue if you let the second-guessing discourage you from taking prudent action on that gut sense of not-rightness. Have you read Gavin de Becker? The Gift of Fear has some good stuff on how the socialization to smile and be nice and not hurt others feelings, etc. is so easily exploited by the predatory and/or dangerously unhinged.
*I wasn't even alone! I was out walking my malamute, who may have been less of a watchdog than your average teacup poodle, but a big ol' wolfish-looking dog at your side works wonders for encouraging polite behavior and a healthy respect for one's personal space.
no subject
Date: 2010-04-02 04:41 am (UTC)Hah! If I had been at my parents' house, I wouldn't have been worried, due to the presence of Dad's Big Stupid Saint Bernard. She is probably incapable of hurting anyone (intentionally, anyway), but she runs towards and barks at any strange noise.