Monday, February 26, 2001

Truth is Stranger Than Fiction

On a cold February day in 2001, I am driving to the Navy Base in Millington on Paul Barrett Parkway.  I think I look hot as can be in a skirt too short and a top so low cut I really should not have been
wearing this outfit to school, let alone work.  It was more of a going to the club ensemble.
At 70mph I am driving past Arlington, a small town suburb of Memphis.  I pass a truck being driven by a man.  I look at him as I pass and I honestly think he could see up my skirt, not that there was much fabric.  He passes me and slows down right in front of me.  I really didn't have time to play leap frog so I pass him again and try to speed off.  He again pulls up next to me.  This time he is keeping up with me, as I have slowed back down to 70.  I look to my left and he is signaling me to roll my window down.  I just smile at him and shake my head no.  

He slows down a bit and then all of a sudden he is back.  This time he is waving frantically. "Pull over,"
he is mouthing to me.
Again I shake my head no.  He slows down again, and immediately pulls back up.  This time he is honking at me and I refuse to look at him.  He keeps on honking.  He is really just laying on the horn.
Finally I turn to look at him.  This man is doing that nasty tongue thing you know where you stick it out and shake it all around and then he gives me the international sign for cunnilingus.

Where do these people come from?  

He is still honking.  I have no fear so again I turn my head to the right to look at the man.  This time, much to my surprise, dude is standing up - yes while driving!!  I am more than shocked to see in his hand…Yes! Yes it is what I think it is.  He is standing up and masturbating at me.

I grab my cell phone and while he is doing this I call the cops.  I was so scared.   I didn't know what
else to do.  

He tried to speed off, but I kept up with him and got his license plate number.  While on the phone with the police I got transferred to five different dispatchers.  Each dispatcher required me to tell the story again.  Each dispatcher would laugh harder than the one before.

The man exited the parkway and I was not about to be late to work to
chase the speeding maniac.  I then called my Mom, I was crying.  She
asked me, "Can you pick his pecker out in a line up?"  

We hung up and daddy called me a few minutes later.  All he had to say, "Well you have that expensive camera in your car with you, did you take a picture of it?  Why not?"

A few days later I got a call from a detective, they were actually "investigating the incident."  They went to the dude’s house and everything.  The detective asked me if I wanted to press charges. I told her “No, just to make sure that this was put down on his permanent record.”

 She said, “We have done so already.”  

He got what he deserved, although I do wonder what in the world he was thinking when the police cruiser pulled up in front of his house.

That outfit caused me nothing but trouble.  I had quite an experience the next time I wore it, I was mistaken as an employee at a casino.  That would be the last time, it has since been retired.  I actually recently pulled the shirt out from the bottom of one of my drawers.  That is what sparked my memory. Today the sweater is at Goodwill ready to wreak havoc in some unsuspecting purchaser’s life.

Now that I look back at the situation it reminds me of that scene in Bridget Jones' Diary when Daniel Cleaver sends emails back and forth about her nonexistent "You appear to have forgotten your skirt.  As I think is made perfectly clear in your contract of employment, staff are expected to be fully dressed at all times" skirt.  The only difference is the sexual advances made towards me were unwanted and Daniel Cleaver didn't whip it out and start a sexual revolution in the office, or on the expressway.

 Is it really only me, as Mom says, or do things like this happen to you?