Just because I’m paranoid….
Often, I worry about my level of fear–that it’s too much, that I’m paranoid.
Last night, I went to get my hair cut. I parked across the busy, well-lit street from the busy, well-lit building that houses the salon, along with two crowded, mid- to up-scale restaurants. As I entered the building, I noticed that someone was behind me, very close. Uneasy, I moved my purse to the front of my body, and stuck out my other arm in a don’t-fuck-with-me posture. I walked quickly to the escalator, telling myself that I was probably imagining myself in danger.
The person, a tall man in a puffy jacket, got on the escalator behind me, and deliberately brushed my hand as he did so.
OK, so I wasn’t imagining it. I moved to the left up the escalator, walking quickly until I passed another person and stood in front of her. But as soon as I got off the escalator, I heard the swish of the guy’s jacket behind me. Fortunately, it was just a few yards to the salon. I veered in quickly, shaking my head in amazement. I turned to see the back of the man’s puffy coat go by, and a small boy with him, asking “Why are we in such a hurry?”
I have no idea why the man was following me. I was in my winter coat and hat, dressed plainly, not looking particularly attractive or prosperous. It gave me pause to think about what might have happened had it occurred in a place less bright and crowded, and if I had been farther from a destination.
I was glad that I reacted so quickly to my unease, even before getting confirmation that something was off. I have a lurid imagination, so it is sometimes hard to distinguish between valid instinct and overactive imagination.