I don't trust people. It's not that I don't trust my family or good friends, you know. Just other people. I was raised in a home that was locked at night, as my husband would say, 'tighter than a cow's ass at fly-time'. We did NOT leave our door open/unlocked when we went out, and we certainly locked our cars at night. I grew up, mind you, in an incredibly safe area of Cape Cod. Leaving your cars and homes unlocked at night was the norm for our neighbors. My stepfather, a Marine, did not believe in this as it invited trouble into your home. To this day, I don't open my door up if someone knocks unless I'm expecting company. I know, too paranoid, you may say. But, too many 48 Hours and 20/20 Mystery shows have me convinced; it's just better to be safe and paranoid than sorry and regretful.
So, on the way home from a NH trip this week, I could feel my car sputtering. The sputter you feel when you know the car has had some shady gasoline (no wonder it was less than $2.90 a gallon!) or perhaps because we had cranked the AC for about 4 hours. Whatever the case, I knew there was a problem and put on my big girl shorts to get the hell off the expressway as fast as I could without crying or freaking out. With two babies in the back in the middle of rush hour traffic, that was no small feat.
We pulled off at Bryant Ave, near Quincy. But, I was in a tricky spot because I still had an on-ramp coming up behind me and anxious commuters zooming towards us. My husband waved people off and I had on my hazards, and after a few frantic minutes, we were able to get the car going and get me onto a residential street. So there we sat and pondered; what do we do? A tow truck won't have the room for car seats, our friends are all commuting home, and our parents are too far away to be of immediate assistance. The police couldn't escort us (we asked) and I certainly wasn't going back on the expressway. I didn't know a back road, either. So, we sat still and weighed our options.
Someone drives up, asks us if we are okay. My immediate reaction was fear, not relief. I gave my hubby the 'look', and he jumped in, saying we were fine, help was on the way. This guy didn't really buy it, he mentioned something about letting us wait at his house, with his wife. I felt myself getting more and more anxious. And a bottle of wine. Oh dear lord he's going to chop all of us into pieces. And his kids were at camp. Crap crap crap. He's a stalker or a hopeful swinger and we needed to think fast on our feet. He got out of the car. Little guy, hubby could have handled him. I ran a few scenarios through my head. Had my hand on the cell phone, windows up 75% and doors locked. It sounds crazy, doesn't it? I sound insane.
And then he mentioned a back road that would take us to Randolph. He'd lead us there. Randolph? I know my way home from there. And so, he did. Turns out, he was just a nice guy that saw a couple and probably could relate to car troubles at 8pm on a Thursday evening. He wasn't trying to liquor us up or hurt our kids, he was just trying to be a nice guy, another fellow parent who was looking forward to a night with his wife, with the kids away at camp.
He was a Southie boy, born and raised, and he lived in Quincy. Went out of his way for us, restored our faith. For a minute anyway. So, although it stinks that fear is my first reflex-emotion, it's okay. I'll stay vigilant. And paranoid, and I'll let experiences like that surprise me, instead of just assuming they'll always be like that. And yes, Mom, I'll expect you to speak to me about this, as you read this with your fingers white-knuckled at the computer. (Because I guess you always do worry about those babies in the backseat, dontcha?)
