Butterfingers Meets Wolf

There is little I fear about travelling and being alone. I'm no stranger to my own company, nor to foreign streets and neighbourhoods. In fact, most of the time, I'm simply skipping along through the woods like the freckle-faced girl in a red velvet hood on her way to see her grandma. That is until she meets the big bad wolf.

In this case, my proverbial big bad wolf wasn't actually all that big. Or bad. I did nevertheless lose a few freckles from our meeting at the basement carpark last Friday evening, and the one handshake that was extended to me, I wish now that I hadn't accepted.

The basement of my building serves not only as a carpark, but has a few storage and workrooms/sheds for its residents. I have the luxury of parking pretty close to the entrance of the lifts, but of late, I've been coming home from work to find an old man working in his shed almost directly behind my parking space. I hate that he insists on talking to me every single time we cross paths, but figuring he was an owner-occupant in this building and merely wanted to get to know the neighbours, I reluctantly obliged. By the 2nd meeting, I realised he was more than friendly. He was senile.

On Friday, i came home as usual. I noticed the shed opened, but instead of the old man, there was a younger man, standing outside my car waiting for me to come out. I stalled as long as I could, but if only I had brains larger than a fairytale girl's at the time, I would have panicked sooner, realised that I needn't put up with this, and driven away. Afterall, there were plenty of visitors' parking spaces outside. But no. I was a fairytale girl in fairyland where all endings are inevitably happy, so I came out of the car with my fairy godmother in tow.

He extended his hand and introduced himself as Paul. He looked normal at first, but his speech tells me he has a mental problem. What kinda place IS this? I introduced myself in a firm, but bright manner as I would greet anyone, and took his hand. He held on and wouldn't let me go. He looked at me with glazed eyes, slouched posture and slurred speech and wouldn't let go of my hand. My heart sank.

Still in semi-fairyland oblivion, I kept surprisingly calm, and finally I yanked my hand out of his grip. Then he says: "Boyfriend? Boyfriend?"

Three thoughts in one second: "Was he speaking to me like that because I was Asian, thus would only understand simple, broken English - kinda like 'taxi? taxi?'", "Is he asking if I had a boyfriend?", or "Is he asking to BE my boyfriend?" - Either way, i don't wanna know what he wants!

Whilst he continued to initiate more questions, I gave him mono-syllable answers as I hurriedly got my things out of the car, but God help me, everything was slipping through my fingers. I was weak with fear physically before the reality reached my head. I couldn't open any door quick enough, keys were finding the floor and wouldn't fit key holes.

I got into my apartment, slapped myself a few times, then exchanged stories with the apartment manager over the phone. According to her, Paul has a mental illness, but is harmless, although he's been specifically instructed to 'stay away from girls'. The old man is his father - an Alzheimer's Disease sufferer. As for me, I get a new carpark space on a different level.

I know now that I should have done things differently, but all I had in my head at that time was that I shouldn't discriminate against people with mental illness. They probably do know that they're different, and treating them as such might only drive them to anger, or perhaps violence. The last thing i wanted to do was upset him. More than anything, I realise how terribly ill-equipped I am of handling such situations. How will I know, if it happens again, whether I'd instinctively protect the other person's feelings, or learn first to protect my own well-being? If there are any girls (or guys) who have been in a similiar situation, I'd really like to hear about how you dealt with it.

Good and safe night to you all.