Pepper Spray & A Cell Phone

Monday night, a man followed me home from the train station.

I was minding my own business, standing outside the station waiting for the 82 bus. It was almost 7pm, later than I usually am because I'd gone to the gym after work, and it was starting to get dark. The failing light didn't bother me. I've been taking public transit my whole life, at all hours of the day and night, in and through all manner or neighborhoods (many worse than where I was right then), and had never had any trouble.

So I'm standing there, not far from several other people, and a man I've never seen before turns to me and asks if I'm going home. Definitely not an unusual question, as I'm used to people making small talk while waiting for the bus, and I've definitely been asked weirder things. So I say that I am, he nods, and wanders off a ways.

When the bus shows up, a group of us get on, the man who'd talked to me included, and the bus got on its way. Everything seemed normal enough -- no one sat unnecessarily close to me, no one talked to me -- except that that guy kept staring at me. Eh, whatever, I thought. Plenty of guys stare at me on this bus. I'm always the only white chick, and I always look out of place.

After what seemed like years (but was only 3 songs on my Ipod) my stop comes up, and I get off. And so does that same guy. Thats when the alarm bells started going off inside my head. No one gets off at my stop after 5pm except for me. And on the off chance that someone does, they never walk the same direction I do. But this guy was following me, walking the same way I was, keeping pace about 15 feet behind me, even when I walked faster.

I tried to keep my cool. I focused on walking fast, but not too fast. I focused on getting my keys out of my pocket. I focused on acting like I hadn't noticed him, and everything was just fine. All the while I was creating a mental image of the guy just in case.

My height, latino, short black hair, brown eyes, brown skin, khaki shirt, dark blue carpenter style jeans, black work shoes, no scars, no tattoos, no limp, no goddamned distinguishing features...

It was less than a block, but it seemed like an eternity before I got to my building, like life was happening in slow motion.

Time seemed to speed up when I got to the front security door, and I couldn't get it unlocked at first, fumbling with the key, as the guy got closer and closer. Finally, just before he got through the lobby door, I got through the security door, and pulled it shut behind me, my heart pounding in my chest as I leaned back against it gratefully (thank GOD for security doors!).

I nearly screamed when he hit the door, I was so caught off guard. Looking over my shoulder, I hurried down the hallway as he kept pounding on the door, and rounded the corner to the mail room. Safely out of sight, I could still hear him pounding, POUNDING, on the security door while I waited for the elevator.

You're fine, I kept telling myself as I made my way through the building to my apartment He can't get in. He didn't see where you went. He doesn't know which apartment is yours... But I was shaken, severely, and I still had to pay my rent and take out the trash.

There are a couple of ways to get to the manager's office (which is empty that time of night), the quickest being to leave the building and cut across the parking lot. So, as I was just about to step out onto the lot, I saw someone studying the back gate. It was the guy who had followed me. He couldn't get in the front, so he'd gone around the back to try that way!!

I freaked. I lost my cool entirely, and ran back into the building, slamming the door behind me. I took the long way, through the building, to the office and back, practically hyperventilating the whole way.

Unfortunately, there's no way to get to the dumpsters without leaving the safety of the building... And stubborn me was determined to take out the damned trash. Now, I've never liked taking out the trash, but I've never been afraid to do it. Now though, I was terrified. Terrified to leave the building alone. Terrified to walk the 30 feet from the front door to the dumpsters. But I went anyway, holding my keys between my fingers in a fist, looking over my shoulder every other step... I did it, and once I was back in the building safely, without incident, I cried the whole way back to my apartment.

So... I've lived in, and travelled through, some of the most dangerous parts of the Bay Area, and I have never had anything like that happen before. NEVER. I've lived next door to drug dealers, ridden the bus with "gang bangers" and wanna-bes with guns in their pockets, seen drive by shootings (no one hurt, thankfully), had cars broken into, been accosted by homeless people, been felt up on the train... I hear sirens scream by my building every night. But I've never been afraid for my own safety. Not ever. Until now.

The guy I'm seeing dropped everything and came right over as soon as he found out... Which was incredibly sweet, and I adore him to death for it, but I still had nightmares all night that night, dreaming of being chased down narrow corridors by someone or something I couldn't see. I don't like being afraid. Not truly afraid, for myself, or people I care for.

So yesterday, on the advice (and scoldings) of several people, I took the afternoon off work and bought pepper spray and a cell phone. The bright yellow pepper spray canister has taken up permanent residence on my hip, and the cell phone has matching prime real estate on my other hip, and from here on out, I will never leave my apartment without either one. They don't exactly make me feel safer... I just feel a little better equipped to deal with whatever might come my way.