Sir,
I am in need of a weapon. Something easily carried in a jacket or handled while walking, while being not obviously a weapon. An umbrella I don't think would survive the siberian-like winters here. I have a box cutter but I wonder if that is unobtrusive enough, and I'd rather not go blade to blade with some ebon saint, which is what prompts this.
[Rolled magazine, can opener, cork skrew, flashlight, tactical pen, hair brush—Cold Steel makes them with plastic daggers in the handles—cane, walking stick, length of PVC, which will break when you hit him over the head and give you a jagged shank, a dollar tree beer mug weighs almost a pound, windshield scraper with brush for the eyes, snow shovel, hand broom to stab to the eyes.]
What follows is a report written the same day of the incident:
Walking home from work, [REDACTED, REDACTED] November 1st. about 530 pm. Weather is partly cloudy, blue skies, with the sun already beginning its descent and lending color to the far horizon. about 45 degrees fahrenheit. Cold Breeze from the lake is blocked by buildings.
Downtown.
Young dindu male and mulattess walk by, mulattess on bike, dindu on foot.
They stop at the windowed doors to a closed building, dindu appears to be looking inside. As I walk close he turns to me and flashes one of those super fancy, supposedly wicked sharp extra bladed knives, the ones that look like some sacrificial knife used by an evil priest in a conan film. The dagger was hooked in a pocket on the inner side of his jacket, and we momentarily lock eyes. My step stutters, falters,
[This is where it went south. Once you are dead inside this won’t be a problem.]
and as I look him in the face he starts talking at me. I can't make out what he's saying besides "tha' fuck you say to me, bitch boy?" but I start side-stepping into the street. I have to swerve to thread my way between a sign and a chain-link fence put up for construction, and in doing so momentarily turn my back.
[Good move, making Homo Erectus negotiate terrain. Glad you did not verbalize or freeze. You took the bitch out of it by moving off.]
Dindu follows, still talking ebonics at me and brandishing his sacrificial knife at me. The only word I hear clearly is "devil".
[Own that moniker. That was an adulation.]
My left shoulder is facing him as I step away, still looking him in the eyes. I feel afraid, eyeing his knife then back to his face,
[You can track his knife gate by keeping his elbow in your field of vision while maintaining eye contact. Just practice that with the use of daily encounters, keeping a person’s elbow in your field of view as you look at their chin. Once eye contact is broken no need to re achieve it. You were in a combat situation here so look at his chest-throat-chin so he can’t use the knife to herd you or distract you.]
but I say nothing and continue to look at him as he follows me.
I'm halfway across the street when he looks down and away, my eyes flicker in that direction to see two cars turning a corner and driving towards us. Dindu backs off, walks away. As I continue walking home I turn my head several times, even walk backwards for a few paces, but he does not follow.
[Waking backwards is a very good idea. Try three steps back spin and walk three steps, stop, look over shoulder and continue.]
Its only a block later that I remember the keyring at my hip, and the box of macaroni in my left hand (given to me by my kindly ebon boss) which might have served as an impromptu buckler.
[A thin box of spaghetti is a good stabbing and hand whacking device.]
The rest of the walk home I go through various scenarios in my mind, mostly of me wrestling away his knife and butchering him. I remind myself of my Christian duty to forgive, but I do not have the heart to pray hypocritically.
[Doing these scenarios when you start your walk will eventually show in your body language and help deter this stuff. Your best weapon for dealing with some shit with a knife, especially a bells and whistles intimidation knife that tangles easy, is to carry a spare jackets, whip his eyes with a forehand and then drape his knife hand with a back hand, close, wrap him up, mount, disarm, knees to head, etc. Don’t use his knife on him. Take it as a trophy. This was not a bad resolution. You will get better at this. There are ten ways this could have been worse. Keeping a sturdy umbrella and never use it for the rain, but save it to entertain your new friends who want to give you fancy knives. I loved having a collection of knives that I had taken from people.]
Transcription ends.
It occurs to me after the fact that this particular yoof was likely(?) looking to score cheap thrills and awe from his mulatess by threatening with a fantasy-style dagger, which, in all likelihood, would have snapped at the first touch of combat. Still. is it a sign of a healthy mindset for a man to imagine what he would do after the fact in graphic detail? or merely cope produced by a cowardly mind.
[Use this event for scenario generation in your mind. This was a gift. Fight this faɡɡot in your mind every day. Add his bitch to the mix, give him an edge… be the devil.]
I could just take my car to work, but why the devil should I cede the streets to a damned jungle bunny?
[Large umbrella broke in training today. The handle comes out with a tube of metal ending in a jagged end. Break an umbrella and carry it like so, and pull out the jagged pipe to rake eyes stab throats and whip hands while you use the many stays of the rain shield in the other hand. One day you won’t be allowed to drive because of fuel rationing and other bull shit like the automotive virus, etc. Just practice owning your streets in a cagey way.]
[You did not get stabbed or dominated—fair resolution. The next one will go better.]
