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White Devils and Stolen Dogs, The Moral

And you thought it was never coming…

When we lived in L.A. we had an emergency disaster kit I was so proud of I showed it off whenever people came over.  Here’s our kitchen, here’s the bathroom, and this?  This is our emergency disaster kit!  I imagined that angels hovered above it and sang whenever I opened it.  When the Big One hit, we were going to be able to feed ourselves and the animals for months.  We had canned food and bottled water and special camping stoves and lamps and a first aid kit to die for.  Now we live New York City, where in the last three years I have been chased, followed, harassed by police and masturbated on during rush hour, and yet we have never prepared for disaster or emergency.

Ours is actually a funny story, if you think about it.  I mean, who gets chased through markets by growling, chanting homeless people?  I do, actually.  That sort of thing happens to me.  I am told that the city is much, much safer than it once was, that it’s really the Disney version of a city that vanished when Guiliani came into office, and I believe that.  In general I feel a thousand times safer walking the streets of New York late at night than I’ve ever felt in Los Angeles.  That being said, we must acknowledge that Manhattan is a tiny island with eight million people and awful weather.  Shit will happen and it’s our responsibility to be prepared.

When we got home that day, after the apologies and the pretend-pouting and the don’t-worry-I’m-not-really-mad-at-you roll in the hay, we had a long and serious conversation about how we’re going to react the next time, as there will inevitably be a next time.  Now we have a pay phrase, something incongruous that he or I can say outloud to let the other know we’re feeling threatened. Then we’ll find a well-lighted public place, and I will stand behind Mike with the cell phone ready to call for cops, while he faces the predator and firmly says, Back off.  Or something along those lines.  If he’s met with violence, I will run the fuck away and call 911.  Because I know how slow NYPD is to respond, I will tell the operator that my husband is being physically assaulted and that his life is in danger.

If I’m alone the next time I feel threatened, I will make my way to a well-lit public place, point at the predator and shout, “This man is following me, I am in danger and I am calling the police!” And then if I still need to, I will call the police and wait two hours for their arrival.

What’s your safety plan?

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  • ‘Cita

    Earth quake kit? Yup, that’s it.

  • I walk with a cane… I figure in an emergency I could still make a peoplesicle out of someone if I really needed to.

  • Frost

    Peoplesicle! That’s great!