My first husband was really into cars. That year we had a t-top firebird, which was not all that suitable for winters in Michigan. So during the icy months I drove Trooper – a retired state trooper car which had been painted orange.
I was a social worker in Detroit and my job took me into some neighborhoods. Into some neighborhoods. One dark-by-five-o’clock winter evening I was heading home from work when Trooper’s steering went out. I pulled into a gas station and called my husband. He told me to sit tight until he could get there.
So I sat in the gas station, alert to my surroundings, and waited. It wasn’t the kind of place where you could play 2048 on your cell phone to kill the time. Too dangerous to let yourself be distracted. Plus, cell phones were only phones back then.
Scanning my surroundings I saw someone approach. He began circling me and licking his lips, like I was some sort of tasty treat. I had to think fast.
I pulled a small Bible from my purse and started reading it – aloud – in as crazy a manner as I could muster.
(1 Samuel 21:12-15 and Psalm 34, for those who don’t know…)
It worked. The potential perp decided I wasn’t worth it.
Saved by a double-edged sword. And feigned insanity.
Today is the hub’s birthday so I’m off to the store. He wants pot roast.
Oh, and sorry for mucking up your reader with two posts in one day, but I just felt like responding to the daily prompt.
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Saved by the Bell.”