After my doctor's visit (which resulted in a prescription for an antibiotic ... thank You, Jesus), I had to stop by the drug store and by Kroger to pick up ingredients for a dessert for Ed to take to work tomorrow. As I pulled into the parking place (a regular one, not a handicapped), I noticed a tall, thin man in jeans, a T-shirt, and a dirty ball cap standing directly behind my car ... like he was waiting for me. And I didn't have a clue who he was. Made me nervous.
I hesitated momentarily, but then I decided it was broad daylight at 2 in the afternoon in a crowded parking lot. As I got out of the car, I heard, "Excuse me, ma'am." I turned around to face him and he asked, "Can you tell me you how got one of them?" he asked, pointing to my handicapped parking decal. Oh, great, I thought. Another encounter with someone critical of the decal. Can't see my scars, so he thinks I came by the decal illegally.
I told him I'd had 3 spine surgeries and knee surgery. "So it is hard for you to walk long distances?"
Yes. Sometimes it is.
And he just kept on asking questions. Like what qualified a person for a handicapped parking decal. Well, it just depends. Asthma, permanent disabilities of any kind, I suppose. He'd just have to ask his doctor. I told him he could print out the form from DMV, have a doctor fill it out and sign it, and then take the form and the fee to DMV. He must not have a computer. Wanted to know if he could get the form from a doctor. I don't know the answer to that. Probably. Maybe.
Then he wanted to know how much it cost. (I don't recall originally. Renewal is $3.) Why I had a decal instead of a license plate. (The decal is much cheaper and serves the same purpose.) Does it cost more in one county versus another? (I don't know, but I doubt it.)
I kept inching, a few steps at a time, toward the door. He was right with me and it was making me extremely uncomfortable. I don't know why. It just did. Finally he said he needed to get a handicapped decal or license plate for his father.
Ordinarily I'm not uncomfortable with strangers. But this one just didn't set well on my radar. Can't explain it. I watched a TV program not too long ago that said when your instinct is that something isn't right, then usually it isn't. Maybe the man truly needed information ... but why me?
Maybe I've shared this before ... but this instinct thing reminded me of an incident that occurred in June 1967. I was one month short of being a teenager and on the way to my friend Debbie's house to spend the afternoon. A hot summer day in a time when some folks still didn't lock doors, when kids could roam the neighborhood without fear of some weirdo kidnapping and murdering them. As I walked up Murphy Road, I noticed a man ...a well-dressed man in a suit ... standing in a yard on a side street. Kinda wondered what a man was doing out that time of day. Every daddy I knew got up early and went to work. Mine did. The one next door did. It's what daddies do.
Didn't give him much of a second thought and continued on my way to Debbie's. But in a minute I heard footsteps behind me. Heavy footsteps. A man's footsteps. I turned around for a peek and it was THAT MAN, the one in a suit. Clean cut. Dress shoes.
I picked up my speed. So did he. I got to an intersection and stopped to take a look for cars. None. Not a soul in sight. This was a neighborhood street, not a main thoroughfare. As I ran across the street, I heard a voice. "Do you know what time it is?" It was THAT MAN.
I looked at my watch, turned around to answer him, and there he was ... his pants unzipped and his private part in his hand ... shaking it like a cheerleader with her pom poms and asking if I wanted to go for a walk. I stammered out "NO!" and took off running down the street ... as much as you can run with flip-flops and a sore foot (I'd stepped on a bee earlier). After a few houses, I stopped. A mother and her kids were out in the yard. I sat down to catch my breath and looked. THAT MAN was gone.
Took off to Debbie's house, which was just around the corner. Called my mom, who gathered up my little sisters and drove over to get us. Debbie's mom worked ... unheard of in 1967 unless you were divorced. She was. Anyway, Mama called the police. They came and I gave a description. A few days later I saw THAT MAN walking down our street. Still in his suit. All dressed up like he was going to church instead of out looking for prey. Young prey. Mama called the police again, and they came and arrested him. He had quite a record, and for his little exposure incident, he got 11 month and 29 days in jail. I walked away with my virginity intact, but my innocence changed.
Maddest I've EVER seen my daddy. If he could have gotten his hands on him, he would have killed him. No doubt in my mind. He would have strangled the life out of him after he'd beaten him to a pulp. You just didn't mess with my daddy's little girls.
Anyway, my instinct that day ... that something about that man wasn't right ... may have saved my life. So all that to say, if your gut instinct is that a situation just isn't right, then it probably isn't. Discernment, good sense, instinct, that inner voice ... whatever you want to call it ... however it happens with you ... just pay attention.
