I'm Not A Murderer

OK World, picture the scene.

It's 7.15pm on a breezy Autumnal evening. The roads are busy, and yours truly is clumping along one heading home. I've had a long day, I'm tired, I'm sore, and I've just escorted the boys to Scouts in order to pay for their camp this weekend.

It's getting dark, granted, but Clay Hill Road & Timberlog Lane are both A) Busy, and B) Well Lit. I am walking at my usual pace, and being a big tall lad, my pace is fast. Kellie can't keep up with me, the kids (except Tam) can't keep up with me. I am plodding along and on the phone to Kellie, but being windy, she can't hear me properly, so I stop to talk to her sheltered beside a wall.

Now, I am NOT a blend-into-the-crowd kinda guy. I'm tall, fat, have long hair, and currently, I am stomping in my boots while wearing shorts and have a black thin jumper on. Oh, and Sunglasses, as I forgot to take them off earlier today.

Anyways, I stop to talk to Kellie and while saying goodbye (See you soon baby, hope you're OK, love you lots, bye, byeeee) a woman goes past me, also on foot. I finish up talking to Kellie, reply to a Tweet, and head off in what happens to be the same direction as The Woman.

She's about the same height as Kellie, so 5'2, 5'3 or so. Little legs. I am a full foot taller. Long legs. As Kellie and myself proved at the weekend, for every step I take, she has to take two or three. So the laws of physics dictate I am walking faster than her.

Now, to be honest, I start out paying the woman no heed. I'm pissing around on my phone (I forgot my headphones and bored) and clomping my way home and obviously, catching up with her. I realise that she is now watching me over her shoulder.  Meh, I carry on, still poking around the screen of my phone, but now I am aware she is watching, I'm not glancing up at her.

And all the time, catching up.

The distance closes fairly quickly, not like I'm running after her, but her Little Legs are no match for my Long Legs.

Still watching over her shoulder, she suddenly breaks into a run.  For all of five seconds, just to put some distance between me and her. Great, NOW I'm pissed off. Clearly, being that I am a man, walking in the dark, wearing sunglasses and boots with shorts, I MUST be a murderer.

Granted, she may well have had some traumatic experience in the past, but we are not in Axe-Murderer Territory: Cars, Vans, Cyclists, Chavs - all are present.  There's no lull in the traffic, there are no dark alleyways in which I can whisk her, there are no places to park to bundle her into the magic invisible van I own. At this time of the evening, these are BUSY roads, both with traffic and people.

Every couple of minutes, I am again "too close" and she runs forwards for a few seconds. I wouldn't mind, but her hand is clutching a mobile phone - if she's THAT fearful of her life, why not call the police. No, she doesn't know me from Adam, the thing that has really hacked me off is she has gone straight to "Frightened Rabbit" mode and not done any of the other stuff you would expect. Turn and confront, cross the road, flag down a car for help, ask one of the people cycling past us for assistance, knock on one of the MANY front doors we are walking past... Hell, fake making a phone call.

So now I am self-conscious of appearing like a psychopathic axe murderer and attempt to slow down - but I can't slow down enough, so NOW I am walking like a weirdo and still catching up with her. I "stop to do my shoe lace" but soon catch up again, but I'm now pissed off that she - by her stares and fearful runs - has made me feel like I AM guilty of something.

Women - please, if someone looks different to the normal - and in this area that means a baseball cap, designer tracksuit and flashy trainers - don't assume they are a prowling monster after the blood of a female. If you're scared, DO something about it. I would have actually rather been confronted by her, or a police car, or a person she's asked for help, instead of being made to feel like I was stalking her and planning her demise. I would rather have had the opportunity to say "No love, you're old and not my type, and my wife would kill me if I bought home a victim" than to know there is some woman out there peeing her knickers thinking she had a close encounter with a monster on her way home.

Of course, a BETTER thing to say would have been"No love, you're old and not my type, and my wife would kill me if I bought home another victim"

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One Response to “I'm Not A Murderer”

Anonymous said...

Ooh story time...
If I had been the woman, I would have stopped and stepped aside, pretending to be looking for something in my purse, and meanwhile threaded my keys through my fingers like brass knuckles. If you kept walking by, cool, no more problem. If you had stopped to grab me, I would have slashed your face, screamed at the top of my lungs, and run like the wind to the nearest doorstep.
Hence, why I would survive and she would not if you HAD been looking for a victim.
The end.