Out in Harm County, on Officer Manfriendly’s beat, at Free Food For Fat F…s, where I toil for Boss John, whose ditch is ever in need of being filled with dirt, or of having said dirt removed, I work closely with about a dozen fellows, and not-so-closely with about a dozen others. The balance of the staff consists of perhaps 80 women.

Of these 24-odd men only two would be worth a sweat in a fight: Steevo of ‘Running From The Cops’ fame, and Bob, the big angry Polish-American who I help with the frozen food in the wee hours. This morning Bob told me a tale that warmed my combative heart.

“Yesterday Fruit Cake [our mild-mannered supervisor] gathered us up: me, that bagger twerp; the worthless kid over in produce; and Sissy Boy from the meat room, and told us we needed to walk this woman home. She was definitely afraid, and was not one of your typical toothless locals—in her twenties. We never saw the guy, but she said he followed her to the store, and that he had raped her before. She only lived around the corner. Imagine my confidence walking with a twerp, a twit, a sissy, and a tinker bell off down the alley. I have to admit, smacking some dirt bag’s face into the pavement on company time did have me looking on the positive side.

“We never saw the guy, but this girl was terrified. As soon as we got within ten doors of her house she broke into a run—ran for her life with her little grocery bag dangling, and there is Sissy Boy—basketball tall—trying to hunch down and hide behind us! Could you imagine being such a gutless turd, getting up in the morning and having to look at that in the mirror? Of course, he is such a sweetie pie he was probably afraid he would get raped! Dude, get it over with and jump from the Key Bridge!”

In my mind, this was a huge deal. Just as the city has been overrun by violence on the eve of summer so has the county. The fact that women are now asking for male protection, and that a business would permit its employees—in this legalistic age—to escort a customer home, does provide a ray of hope.

When I worked in the city as a store manager my legally shell-shocked employer did not even want me escorting little old ladies to and from their car for fear I or the criminals that preyed on them would get hurt and then file a law suit. I still guaranteed the protection of my customers and coworkers on the property to the best of my ability. This remained a bone of contention between myself and my employer until I tossed the keys to my co-manager one Tuesday morning and made an exodus from my own little Egypt.

The fact that four of the five men in the above case were in no way psychologically prepared for any type of confrontation, yet went out of their way to protect this lady despite their fears, makes their actions all the more commendable. [Bob had sadistic ulterior motives.] This type of protective manly behavior was once commonplace in America, but is now largely absent. I hope that one of the side effects of our deteriorating economy, which lies prostrate at the feet of the rising narcostate, is an increase in this kind of spontaneous community policing.