Once Bitten, Twice Shy

If there’s anywhere I’ve been that leaves a bad taste in my mouth, I’d have to say it is the whole Memphis area. If you wonder why, read the post titled “Hell is alive and well in Mississippi”, which took place on the outskirts of the south side of Memphis, on the Mississippi side of the line.
I had a delivery in West Memphis, and arrived the evening previous to my appointment, so I thought I would just park nearby, sleep and deliver in the morning. I admit, the neighborhood made up for in “hood”, what it was lacking in “neighbor”, but I was thinking all of Memphis looked run down to me, so how bad could it be? I hid my truck out of sight behind an abandoned warehouse, and decided to take the dogs out to pee and check how bad/good the area might be. And this is how I found myself the only white person to be seen, walking two Chihuahuas, none the less, down a street where everyone stared at me like I did NOT belong. I was wary, but walked a couple of blocks. An African-American lady was approaching me and gave a slight smile as she said, “I like your dogs”.
“Huh?” I replied. I didn’t catch a word, being transfixed by her garish purple eye makeup, wondering where I had seen that metallic color before. On a low-rider in Mexican town, perhaps? Ah, that was it.
“I said I like your dogs.”
“Oh, thank you,” I answered as I continued, passing a side street from which a very high and/or drugged up man came twirling around in circles clutching a little bundle of belongings under one arm. He seemed not to notice me at all, almost twirling into me as I sidestepped and put some distance between us. At this point I decided to find somewhere else to spend the night, and turned to head back. A guy on a sportbike rode past very slowly, staring creepily all the way, and as I looked back at him, I saw a handgun tucked in the back of his pants. Concerned, I sped up. Passing the last side street before my truck, I noticed about 5 or 6 African-American men approaching. They were whistling and calling to me…..”Where are you going so fast, sweetheart?”, “She’s sleeping in MY bed tonight”, “Come back , baby”.
At least half of them were carrying handguns, and made no attempt to hide it. I took a quick right, leaped into my truck, locked the doors and drove away as fast as I could. As I entered the nearest truck stop, one of the truckers said over the CB radio, “Wow, look at (insert my trucking company’s name)! That bitch needs the ‘fine’ fucking slapped out of her.”
The truckstop was looking no better than where I had come from. A young, rather redneck guy that was parked next to me, rolled his window down and said, “Turn your radio off, girl. You shouldn’t have to hear these guys talking about you. I’ll be here all night. I’ll keep my eye on you. You’ll be ok. You let me know if you need anything. I don’t want you walking to the building alone at night.”
“Thank you, “ I said, thinking maybe it was better to let one stranger help me than try to trust 150 disgusting men. It panned out. Donny was very respectful and polite, and did indeed walk me inside every time I needed to go, and didn’t let me out of his sight. While I was wary of him, I do think I slept a little better knowing he was right there.
On a side note, I discovered that as I was cleaning my truck that day, I had accidently reversed the plug for my fridge, which turns it into a heater, and therefore all my food was cooked. Even my milk and yogurt. I was very disappointed. It was a sad moment.