While my threshold encounters haven't escalated to homicide so far, it's always in the back of my mind that something could happen. When it comes to staying up too late or eating fast food multiple times a day I think of myself as an independent adult but in terms of being home alone or outside after sunset, I'm just a little girl.
My first brush with danger at the door was when a pizza delivery guy was MUGGED on his route and didn't let that interfere with his dedication to providing customers like me with access to empty carbohydrates. I don't want to be insensitive to his situation, but truth be told the pizza was a little disheveled when it arrived.
*Considering the near catastrophe of that pizza delivery, it should come as no surprise to you that some time later, I made the exact same mistake.
Late one weeknight, and by late I mean around 7:40, there was a knock at my door. Being the cautious, independent woman and murderino that I am, I muted the television so it seemed like no one was home and peered carefully through the peephole to spy a young girl.
I felt like Beyonce would want me to help another woman, so I opened the door (like an idiot) and she asked to use the phone. Since home phones went out of style when I was in middle school, I handed her my iPhone and invited her inside as a respite from the brutal 50 degree North Carolina winter, wrongly assuming she would make a quick phone call and be on her way.
During the initial phone call, I distinctly heard her telling the recipient to call her back at that number. MY number. That and the fact that she carried a series of bags (both book and duffel) inside with her indicated that she was probably going to stay for all of Wheel of Fortune and possibly the beginning of The Big Bang Theory. So I did what any responsible, well-adjusted adult would have done when confronted with a stranger threatening to ruin her perfect Thursday night. I asked her if she wanted some SpaghettiOs.
Once my guest was settled on the couch with some SpaghettiOs and water, we discussed popular rappers and had a friendly disagreement over who Rihanna should end up with. Through our conversation I found out that she was 18, had a friend who was either nearby or in Baltimore and was a Meek Mill fan. As excited as I was to learn that this friend may have some Hairspray intel, my guest had never heard of Harvey Fierstein so I knew I had to let it go.
For 20 minutes or so of awkward silence, I ruminated on my situation. On the negative side, my guest might never leave. And there's always a slight chance of murder. But on the positive side, this blog post practically wrote itself. Just when I was starting to get excited about what might happen next and how this visitor could help me finally go viral, she left! She headed out in search of her friend and I suppose she either walked across the parking lot or to Maryland. I have no idea, but after 40 minutes of friendship bloomed from a single knock and a door that almost went unanswered, I wish her well.
Throughout this ordeal, I wasn't scared per se, just paranoid after a lifetime obsession with true crime and months of bingeing the podcast My Favorite Murder. I was torn. The realistic part of me said "girls gotta look out for each other" but the much larger, sensational part of me said "you don't know her life, she could have a gun in that backpack!" and the only thing that scares me more than guns is people dressed as rabbits.
What it all came down to was one simple question. Would I rather be the type of person who didn't help someone in need, or go down as the moron who got murdered after inviting a stranger into her house?
I think you'll find I chose wisely.
*Names have not been changed because I didn't have time (or care enough) to Photoshop this.
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