After trying the door a few more times, he stumbled into the yard of my cousin’s house and ran around the front. He kept insisting that he was being robbed and needed to get in the car, his eyes wild. None of my neighbors were outside for me to call out to, but I felt relatively safe inside the locked vehicle. “I’m not letting you in my car,” I said through the window I had rolled down ever so slightly. “You’ve gotta let me in! Just drive me a couple blocks away! Just a couple blocks!” “Someone’s trying to rob me! Just back there!” He pointed down the alley, though I couldn’t see anyone and it was broad daylight. Car locks recommended.Īs I backed my car into the alley, a man shouted at me and raced behind my vehicle, forcing me to brake. I felt this way even before a stranger jumped into my car with me. He didn’t realize that I, like many women, feel unsafe when I’m alone in public. When I admitted this to my fiancé the other day - that I never forget my phone in case I need to call for help, that I clutch my keys close in case I need to defend myself, that my heart beats a little faster until I’m home behind locked doors - he was surprised. Every time I leave the safety of my car to walk the city streets, I’m afraid.
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