Worse for Wear

Cold Paranoia

Today I spent a good deal of time at the ministry center by myself working on a personal project for a family member. I used the ministry's iMac because my laptop would take off as if propelled by solid rocket boosters and explode into the ceiling if I pushed it that hard. About five hours into my solitary task, I realized I had fated the end of my evening to particular displeasure. I parked about a mile away and didn't have anyone to take me to my car. At 7:30, it was already dark and freezing outside. Not wanting to whine to anyone and put them out for a ride, I resolved to "suck it up" and make the 20 minute walk.

Have you ever been in a situation where you are so paranoid about something bad happening, that you play out all the details of what you would do in your head? As I walked though frozen streets, scattered with leaves and graced only by dim lamp light every hundred or so paces, I imagined every possible scenario.

In the first, someone puts a gun to my head and says, "Give me your wallet, NOW!"
I hand him my wallet with a cool confidence that would make James Bond wet his pants, and the thief, now even more on edge, runs away.

My next one threw even me for a loop. The man puts a gun to my head, but this time he yells, "Get in the van!"
My imagination thinks faster than I do, apparently.
"What if this were to actually happen," I wonder, "what would be the safest thing to do?"
After all, who knows where I'd be taken if I went in the van? I could be sold into slave labor at a creepy doll factor in east asia, or worse. Eventually, this is what I came up with.
"No, I'm not getting in your van and let me tell you why," I say, looking him squarely in the eye, "because if you shoot me every cop from here to Cary and back through downtown will be combing this neighborhood within minutes, looking for you. They'll find every bit of evidence they need and you will live in fear of the day they come knocking on your door. Now, on the other hand, if you put the gun away and drive off, I have nothing to go on - I can't every tell what you look like - and you will have committed a much lesser crime. Not tonight, my friend."
"GET IN THE VAN!" he screams, pushing the barrel of the gun into my forehead this time.
"Listen, you still have a chance to make it if you leave now," I say, "better yet, park your van and walk with me. We can chat about whatever is bothering you. I may even be able to help"

At this the criminal is so taken aback that he declares me a lunatic, gets back in his van, and drives off.

In the last scenario, I entreat a vanless villian to take my iPod as well as my wallet, then ask him if he will walk with me to my car.
"What are you talking about?" he asks, perplexed.
"Well, I mean, it's dangerous out here," I reply, "and no one would mess with me if I was walking with you. Besides, you've already got all I have, which isn't much since I'm a ministry intern."
He walks with me, we talk about God, then I shake his hand and say, "Thanks, my name is Nathan."
In a moment of absent-mindedness, he responds with his name and vanishes into the shadows from wince he came. I am left with the decision of whether I want to turn him in or let him go. This is a very tough moral dilemma.

Back in the real world, I am walking and staring at the ground while thinking all of this. Ahead of me, headlights cut through the darkness and the idle purr of an engine approaching slowly creeps through the air. My heart-rate quickens, but I try to quiet my nerves. Probably just someone not sure of where they're going. But the car continues past the turn and I look up, directly at the faceless soul behind its bright lights. At twenty yards the vehicle begins to roll off course and towards the curb, right next to me. Gone is the unbreakable nerve of the fantasy Nathan and all of his clever one-liners. All I can do is keep walking forward. Maybe they're lost and need directions. Just keep walking. At least it isn't a van. Just keep walking. Why hadn't I payed better attention? Walk. Walk. Don't look at them.

I can't resist.

The car goes into park and hums a lower picth as I pass. With near-bated breath I turn to look at the mysterious person next to me on the empty street.

A girl. Two girls, both in the front. Two, kind of attractive girls, in fact - and they're averting their eyes from the strange figure passing them in the night. I take twenty or so steps and regain my mental composure.

Figures. This is why I'm hopeless with women. They tend to terrify me from time to time, in more ways than one.

And now to enjoy a Double Stuffed Oreo.