My name is Robert, Rizo to most of my friends. Although I don’t drink, I still like to go to parties and enjoy being a night-owl in an urban city. Thus, I’m used to walking home late at night; nothing has ever happened to me before, so I never felt like something ever will. But the other night was an exception.
After hanging out with friends and calling it a night somewhere about 3:30 on a Saturday morning, I saw no problems walking home alone the 3 blocks to my house. Being that I am six feet tall, a guy, and relatively strong, I never have a reason to feel like I would be targeted by anyone for easy prey.
I got somewhere to the middle of my home journey, when I noticed a few vagrants on my side of the street. They were being loud; I didn’t think much of it, since after all I’ve seen many people asking for loose change, and not much else.
However when I finally came within a couple of feet from these particular guys, one of them (tattered, middle-aged) started talking to me; don’t get me wrong, I tune even teachers out at school, so not surprisingly, I wasn’t exactly keen on listening to this guy either.
This man was around my height, a bit stockier, and that’s about as far as I took him in, because I was just planning on walking past him, and good riddance. But just as I drew level to him, and was about to walk on by, an iron-grip hand closed around my forearm. I saw he had gotten me thumbs down. I got in my stance, yelled, and pulled my arm straight up and to me. When pulling my arm caused the man to shift his balance, I quickly used the momentum to shove him into a store front gate, and then started running, not looking back, and not taking the time to look back either.
It wasn’t until I was home with the closed door behind men that I started thinking how grateful I was that I’ve started taking self defense classes, or that I read the book for that matter.