I was attacked in my building last night
I went to see Margaret Garner at City Opera with Michael last night. More about that later, but I got home around 1:30 and entered the building. As I went into my elevator bank, a young guy followed me in. There was an elevator waiting so we both got in and he pressed 22 or 23--a few floors above mine. He looked at me and asked me if I "smoked"--I had the feeling he didn't mean cigarettes, he was all "do you smoke?" I figured he was asking me "do you party?" (i.e., do drugs) I said "no, I just came back from the Opera with a friend, no, I don't smoke at all." I'm trying to give him the idea no, I don't at all, I'm completely uninterested in whatever you're offering.
I get off on the 19th floor and walk down the hallway toward my apartment--I'm almost there and he calls out to me and I notice "hmm, he'd pressed another floor, what is he doing here?" He comes up to me and says "hey baby, I got a lot of money, can I give you $300, I just wanna eat your p****." My eyebrows went way up and I said "uh, no, I'm not into that." He keeps repeating the "offer" and then grabs me by the arm with his left hand--he's trying to force me down the hall and I was (incredulously) shoving away, stubbornly resisting. I remember thinking "what the FUCK--NO, I don't want to do this! Get a clue, jerk!" He starts saying in a low voice "just go to the stairs, just go to the stairs" and I notice--he's got a knife, a switchblade, in his right hand. I start screaming "help" and pushing away at him--I'm pushing and screaming and finally he breaks away and runs into the stairwell. I stand there in shock, and I'm bleeding all over the hallway floor. I'm sobbing. Finally, the guy who lives across the hall from me opens the door and says quietly just go into your apartment, lock the door and call 911." He doesn't offer to help or anything. I stand there for a little longer, still in shock, and eventually do so. I call 911 in my kitchen, still sobbing and they tell me the police are on their way. I then call Michael, hysterical, and he jumps in a cab. The police show up, 5 or 6 of them, and they interview me, asking for a description, what exactly happened, where did he go? I tell them everything I can, and they knock on the door of the guy across the hall from me, who grudgingly opens the doors and is basically no help whatsoever. "I didn't see or hear anything--" "Then why did you tell her to call 911?" "Well, I sort of heard her cry help--" His ladyfriend was much more sympathetic--apparently she was the one who told him to help me. The EMT is bandaging me and they tell me the ambulance will be here soon. I tell them no ambulance, they're very expensive, even with insurance, and I don't really need one. I wasn't cut that badly, mainly on my middle finger, although it was bleeding a lot. As the police in interviewing me, another guy comes up in the elevator and looks very startled. "What's going on?" The police explain what happened and he's very sympathetic. "My name is Ricardo--I live right here, please let me know if there's anything I can do." The police tell me tomorrow some detectives will be calling me and they leave. Eventually Michael arrives and I let him in.
He offers to make me tea or coffee--I decline and have a meltdown on the carpet. I call Tim and brief him--he asks me a lot of questions and tells me when the detecticves call me tomorrow, get their names, he knows some guys in the 30th precinct. Michael offers to stay the night, and I pull out the futon bed for him. I start calming down.
After awhile it sinks in that, as upsetting as it was, it could've turned out MUCH worse. I'm cut but not that badly. It could've been...terrible. It also occurs to me that, with my interest in the Kitty Genovese story--I rewrote the ending. I fought off an attacker with a knife. Lil' old 100-pound me fought off an attacker--he was the one who ran away. My ovaries are THIS big. Don't fuck with me. I'm just sayin'.
I'm pretty disappointed in the neighbor across the way though. There's still blood all over the hallway floor--I hope he sees it when he leave his apartment today. If I'd heard him being attacked, bet your ass I would've helped him. And motherfucker! The jerk ruined my white blouse-I don't know if I can get the bloodstains out of it. So uncivilized.
Oh yeah--my laptop is finally repaired.
I get off on the 19th floor and walk down the hallway toward my apartment--I'm almost there and he calls out to me and I notice "hmm, he'd pressed another floor, what is he doing here?" He comes up to me and says "hey baby, I got a lot of money, can I give you $300, I just wanna eat your p****." My eyebrows went way up and I said "uh, no, I'm not into that." He keeps repeating the "offer" and then grabs me by the arm with his left hand--he's trying to force me down the hall and I was (incredulously) shoving away, stubbornly resisting. I remember thinking "what the FUCK--NO, I don't want to do this! Get a clue, jerk!" He starts saying in a low voice "just go to the stairs, just go to the stairs" and I notice--he's got a knife, a switchblade, in his right hand. I start screaming "help" and pushing away at him--I'm pushing and screaming and finally he breaks away and runs into the stairwell. I stand there in shock, and I'm bleeding all over the hallway floor. I'm sobbing. Finally, the guy who lives across the hall from me opens the door and says quietly just go into your apartment, lock the door and call 911." He doesn't offer to help or anything. I stand there for a little longer, still in shock, and eventually do so. I call 911 in my kitchen, still sobbing and they tell me the police are on their way. I then call Michael, hysterical, and he jumps in a cab. The police show up, 5 or 6 of them, and they interview me, asking for a description, what exactly happened, where did he go? I tell them everything I can, and they knock on the door of the guy across the hall from me, who grudgingly opens the doors and is basically no help whatsoever. "I didn't see or hear anything--" "Then why did you tell her to call 911?" "Well, I sort of heard her cry help--" His ladyfriend was much more sympathetic--apparently she was the one who told him to help me. The EMT is bandaging me and they tell me the ambulance will be here soon. I tell them no ambulance, they're very expensive, even with insurance, and I don't really need one. I wasn't cut that badly, mainly on my middle finger, although it was bleeding a lot. As the police in interviewing me, another guy comes up in the elevator and looks very startled. "What's going on?" The police explain what happened and he's very sympathetic. "My name is Ricardo--I live right here, please let me know if there's anything I can do." The police tell me tomorrow some detectives will be calling me and they leave. Eventually Michael arrives and I let him in.
He offers to make me tea or coffee--I decline and have a meltdown on the carpet. I call Tim and brief him--he asks me a lot of questions and tells me when the detecticves call me tomorrow, get their names, he knows some guys in the 30th precinct. Michael offers to stay the night, and I pull out the futon bed for him. I start calming down.
After awhile it sinks in that, as upsetting as it was, it could've turned out MUCH worse. I'm cut but not that badly. It could've been...terrible. It also occurs to me that, with my interest in the Kitty Genovese story--I rewrote the ending. I fought off an attacker with a knife. Lil' old 100-pound me fought off an attacker--he was the one who ran away. My ovaries are THIS big. Don't fuck with me. I'm just sayin'.
I'm pretty disappointed in the neighbor across the way though. There's still blood all over the hallway floor--I hope he sees it when he leave his apartment today. If I'd heard him being attacked, bet your ass I would've helped him. And motherfucker! The jerk ruined my white blouse-I don't know if I can get the bloodstains out of it. So uncivilized.
Oh yeah--my laptop is finally repaired.