The Attempted Mugging

Since I can't possibly bore my readers (on a daily basis) with the endless woos of a 26 year old single woman, it's best that I recant some old stories.


Living in downtown Portland set the stage for the obscure; from late night parties to protests in the park blocks, I was living in an urban, liberal mecca. At just 20 years old, Jackie (the neighborhood friend growing up) and I rented a quaint, two-story apartment in a courtyard right on NW 23rd -- the "trendy" place to be.


Part of living in the "big city" meant using public transportation. Since my job at Legacy Emanuel Hospital was on the East side, I scheduled my hours around the bus system -- but this didn't last long. I made friends in rapid speed back then. Anyone that could help get me what I wanted -- or where I wanted to go -- was instantly befriended. This reminds me of a silly tune my Dad was sing to me, "She gets by with a little help from her friends."


So very fitting. Thanks, Dad.


My shift went late that night and at midnight, the busses stopped running. What a conundrum. Thanks to a smitten hospital security guard who enjoyed my company more than I can say about his, kindly offered to drive me across the river to "protect me" and "keep me safe."I obliged - what other choice did I have at this point? 


Mr. McCreepy and I buckled up in his Prius and started our treck across the river. The conversation revolved around his fishing and hunting escapades. Oh joy, my favorite. I found myself smiling, nodding, and keeping one hand on the door handle at all times.


As we neared my apartment, Mr. McCreepy suggested that instead of dropping me off in front of my gate, he would let me off in the nearby hospital parking lot, just a couple blocks away. This reasoning was due to the fact that he was "on the clock" and technically should not be doing favors like this. Aha, now you tell me. Regardless, I had made it much closer to home and was thankful for the ride.


After an awkward goodbye, my black high heels stepped out onto the pavement of a very dimly lit parking lot. The street was lightly coated with fresh rain, but the night was cool and calm. As I looked to cross the street, I saw a familiar scene: two homeless people huddled at the bus stop, where they could take cover from the rain until the street car began its route the next morning. As I walked briskly from one side of the street to the other, the "click, click, click" of my high heels seemed to become louder and louder. At the exact moment my left foot stepped onto the side walk, I heard a raspy woman whisper, "If you're gonna do it, you gotta go now."


Suddenly, I felt a stranger rush up behind me; his hands swiftly removing my large black purse from my shoulder. Our eyes met with intensity as he clutched the black leather in his hands. He looked uncertain, unsure. Seconds lapsed as he gazed at me with a mouth-half-opened panicked stare. I was suddenly unable to breathe. Without thinking, I reached out and tore the purse from his hands, lunging in the opposite direction. My feet became wheels, moving so rapidly that the clicking of my heels was an unidentifiable blur. I imagined the crazed homeless man behind me as I unlocked the gate to our streetside apartment, my hands shaking uncontrollably. "I made it!" I thought. I was inside, safe, and gasping for breath.


The attempted mugging shook me. It made me think twice about walking alone at night. More importantly, it helped convince all future security guards to drop me off at my apartment, and even walk me to my door.