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.

Flashback #2- Hell is Alive And Well In Mississippi, February, 2005

During my first year of trucking I was working for Schneider National, and still getting a feel for things. I had not yet figured out where to go and where to stay away from at all costs.
I had a load coming out of Olive Branch, Mississippi, going back to Canada. I decided to stop at a pilot there and fax my border paperwork. It was a beautiful day and I was happy, wearing my pink sunglasses and pink top, and looking very girly in general. I hopped out of my truck and headed for the building with a spring in my step. I was about to pass a guy who was coming towards me when he suddenly put his hand on my arm. Taken aback by this douchebag, I spun to face him.

DB: Get in my truck.
Lizzy: Excuse me???
DB: (looking a bit bewildered) Get in my truck.
All of a sudden I realized he thought I was a lot lizard. (Truck stop hooker) I was enraged. I try not to swear so I had to get creative.
Lizzy: (Angrily pulling my arm free) You disgusting PERVERT!!!! You lowdown, filthy PIG! Your Mother would be ASHAMED!!! How dare you?! Keep your slimy hands OFF me! If you were on fire, I would not spit on you!!
At this point he was getting kind of redfaced, as several people had stopped to watch. The truckers were snickering at him. I turned on my heel and put on my “bitch from hell” act out of self-preservation and fear and marched into the building and sent my fax. As I was leaving the building, a trucker came running up with his arm wrapped in a towel, bleeding profusely as police swarmed into the place. He had been stabbed through the arm in the back of the parking lot. At this point I got a little frantic and made a dash for my truck. An African American guy stepped into my path. “Are you ok? I can take care of you.”
“Leave me ALONE!!!” I yelled as I ran past and leaped into my truck in record time, locking the doors. Once inside I took a deep breath and collected myself. I’m safe now. I can relax. I turned on my CB radio, which I almost never use because as a girl the men just harass me. Lot lizards were advertising on every channel, and could see a couple skeleton-like, crack- whore types walking the parking lot. And that was the last time I ever stopped anywhere in Olive Branch, Mississippi.