Late one evening in 1986, I had stopped at the pub with some friends for what was meant to be one drink. We’d parked in a nearby supermarket car park and I’d left my dog in the backseat with the window rolled down, thinking we wouldn’t be gone long. As my friends continued drinking, I walked alone to fetch my dog, not wanting to leave him alone any longer.
I was having some trouble getting the car door to open when I suddenly felt hands around my neck. A voice behind me said “Give me your purse”. In the grip around my neck, I could feel something sharp, cool and metal against my skin.
Time slowed down. I remember thinking, is this my friends playing a prank on me? I now work as a psychologist and what happened next is what they call, in trauma studies, “the ocean moment”. My body just reacted without my mind making a decision about what to do. I threw my arms back up over my head and yelled “Get out!” even though, at 153 centimetres tall, I had no chance of actually hitting my assailant. My cry sounded like a thin whisper to me, but someone heard it.
In an instant, out of the dark, a gang of youths appeared from behind the supermarket. They looked pretty scary – safety pin earrings and the whole thing. In other circumstances, I wouldn’t have wanted to come across them in a car park.
One of them chased the guy off and the others just surrounded me, asking if I was OK and what they could do to help. They stayed with me as I got the dog out of the car and walked with me to the police station so I could report what had happened. Then they just disappeared, back into the darkness.
I learned a few things that night – that you can’t judge a book by its cover, that people can and will help strangers, and to always ask someone to accompany me to car parks late at night.
This happened over 40 years ago, but the memory of those youths’ humanity is still an illuminating treasure that dims the disappointment I felt in the man who sought to violently steal from a woman half his size. I would like them to know that what they did was something extraordinary. It had a lasting effect on my faith in humanity.
What is the nicest thing a stranger has ever done for you?
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