Asking for Directions?

Once upon a time, I lived in Detroit. Now to some of you, especially my friends from the west side of the state, I have always lived in Detroit because the entire metro Detroit area is assumed to be "Detroit". But at one time, I lived in Detroit proper. Not the suburbs, where your trash is picked up on a weekly basis and no one steals your mail. The city, with it's lovely car fires, cultural institutions (I could walk to the DIA . . . very carefully), and Larry the crack dealer who sat next to the dumpster and always wanted to go through my trash. (and I always let him. Who was I to argue?)

While I was living in Detroit, I picked up a sense of caution about men who pulled up on the side of the road and rolled their windows down. In the suburbs, I would have assumed that the man wanted directions. In Detroit, I assumed that the man thought I was a hooker (not because I was dressed like a hooker . . . but a white woman walking in my neighborhood, well . . .).

So when the man slowed down on my street today (which is a pretty busy street) as I was walking to get coffee and rolled down his window, I made eye contact and then kept walking. There were four cars stuck behind him . . . so he probably wasn't going to kidnap me. There was a gas station about twenty feet up, so he could pull in there to ask directions. I just figured whatever this fifty year old man in his Honda wanted, it just wasn't going to be good.

So if you were really going to ask directions, I hope you figured out there was a Marathon to your right. Sorry to seem rude, but I don't talk to strangers who pull over and roll their windows down. Guess it's just the Detroit baggage I have.