Never Pretend To Be Dumb! {Insp}

"Never Pretend To Be Dumb!"
Copyright Irene A. Mystery 2008

Never pretend to be dumb! Unless it's a freezing
December rain on a highway in the South Bronx
and you got a flat tire on your way home from your
job at IBM. It's 30 F(-1C), the road is frozen,
the windshield is frozen, the wheels are frozen....

It's late in the evening, say, about 9:30 pm or so...
The few passing cars glare they sirens and their
lights at you but nobody stops. It's dark. It's cold.
It's the South Bronx. Nobody stops here unless they have to.

Keep in mind that this story takes place before the
cell phones are common place. You get out of the
car and walk toward your trunk, only to realize that
the trunk keyhole is frozen, too! Then you spend
next 5 minutes trying to open the trunk because
that's where your spare tire is.

The rain is pounding on you and your fingers are
getting numb from the cold. Finally succeeding you
realize that the tire is bolted down under the trunk space.

At this point you straighten up and see two huge black
men approaching you on foot. They are about 10-15
feet from you - not enough time to run towards the
front of the car, jump in the car and lock the door.

The thoughts of possible scenarios running through
your head are more suitable for 'Law & Order: SVU'
than they are for this publication. Given no alternative,
you turn to your would-be attackers and smile.

"Anything we can do for you, Miss?"

At this point, you turn into a bubbling 'Dumb Blonde'
(even though you're a redhead) and with big eyes,
almost full of tears, you tell them that you have a flat
tire and you have no idea (yeah, sure!) how to change it.

The guys stare open-mouthed at your 'damsel in
distress' antics and it's clear in their condescending
eyes what they think of you, of all women, and you
as a sore example of all womanhood.

Nevertheless, they set to work, unscrew the spare tire
from under the trunk and ...run into a brick wall. It turns
out that the bolts on the tires are frozen solid. It takes
one of them to put the wrench on the wheel and the
other one STANDING and jumping on it to unbolt the frozen bolts.

At this point you realize that you would have never made
it on your own. After an hour (!!) of fighting with the tires,
the now-sweating men are finally finished. They put
the old tire in the trunk albeit not totally secured.

Inside the car you discuss with yourself how much of
a tip to give them. What if they want something other
than money? You don't feel like parting with your
wedding band. How much is enough to satisfy them
to let you go? Luckily you always carry cash with you
for emergencies. This is it.

They come to the window.

"Well, miss?"

Their voices are lowered. Tensions are up.

Quickly turning on the 'blabering Blonde' persona
again, you thank them profusely, telling them what
a great job they did and what you would have done
without them, etc, etc., etc., many times in great
repetition, smile many times, then you stuff a couple
of twenties in each of their palms without getting
out of the car, wave and drive off.

Stone-faced, you drive the rest of the way home.
You come home, hug your 2 year old sleeping son,
and tell the story to your husband, who almost has
a coronary. You take a long bath. Then you think
about heaving a nervous breakdown but somehow
you never do, not over this adventure.

That incident was the only time in my life I ever pretended
to be dumb. Were the two black gentlemen who helped
me just a couple of honest guys looking to help whomever
was stuck on the road? (For a proper compensation, of
course.) Maybe. Then again, why were they out in that
horrible weather? Were they looking for trouble?

What would happen if I didn't have any money? $80 was
a substantial amount of money at the time. Come to think
of it, it still is. Was I in real danger? Absolutely. Was
I scared? For some strange reason, no. When I thought
I was about to become a statistic, I just stared at the two
approaching figures with a rather bored expression.
Qué será, será. It's the condescending attitude in their
voices that gave me an idea to play an airhead damsel
in distress. What would happen if they didn't come alone?
I have no idea. I probably would have sat in that car all
night. Or worse. Some other predators could have found
me. Remember, this happened in 1992, before the cell
phones became affordable.

Whomever I tell this story to, no matter what color or
gender that person is, s/he usually gets goose bumps.
The South Bronx at the time and to this day to some
extent is a very violent and most dangerous area of
NYC, where whites are continuing to be a minority,
putting it mildly. It's not a place for a lone woman to be
stuck at night. Or in a middle of a day, for that matter.
Received on Sun Jan 13 11:58:31 2008