Terror, Part I and II

Well, from the plethora of responses from my last post, I'm thinking I need to add some context.

The very first time I visited Philadelphia I stayed in a Hampton Inn on the corner of Race street and 12th street. After my interview, my dad and I decide to go out for a celebration dinner near China town (at Arch and 10th, which is a few blocks south of Race). It was a good meal, but it ran later than expected; so it was around 10pm when we started heading back. While enjoying our walk up 10th we turn on Race to find over a dozen men standing, lying, sitting, peeing, etc along 11th. It was a serious surprise to see all of these men, some with sleeping bags, others with just a pile of dirty, dilapidated clothes stuck to their obviously soiled bodies (the smell of the corner rivaled that of porta-potties). And they were a loud and aggressive bunch. Of course anyone can cat call (which they did), but when they start crossing the street to your side, red flags raise. So as quickly and confidently as I could in heels, I high tailed it to the entrance of the hotel. Father, of course, used this as a prime example of why I should never, ever be out in the city at night, and even said that four hours before dusk was warrant enough to be indoors (that would make the time four in the afternoon).

Really, four in the afternoon is a perfectly fine time to pass by this corner solo. However, a few miles north of Race when you start getting north of Temple University, four o' clock would not be the right time for a walk, a bus ride, or even, let's say, a Sunday afternoon drive in a Lincoln Town Car (as my mother and I did the following week). That corner looked like Mary Poppins compared with its northern crack baby sister who'd kill anyone as a way of passing the time. Trash was everywhere. Literally, EVERYWHERE. I have never seen a place look so filthy in the states (the smell not like that of the porta-pottie corner, but more like that of the sole toilets at an IBS symposium). Disgusting, right? Absolutely. It was like touring a third world country in a food truck that screamed take me. And it wasn't the only one screaming. As much as I love my mother, I can't stand her nerves. (She usually freaks out over small things, like "Jackie, that man looked at me funny." Well, mom, it's because he has a glass eye.) So when we realize our situation, she starts to yell in the car "My god, Jackie, we are going to die..." along with a slew of swear words. side note: she's driving. Each stop light exacerbates the situation with beyond shady people walking slowly in front of and behind the car, which causes my mother to be on the verge of tears. I finally snap. "Mother, clam down and look as confident as you can. Keep your hands on the wheel, and calm it down!"

Now I'm fairly sure that the situation felt a bit more precarious simply because of the crazy lady next to me screaming death was inevitable. Would I have felt safer without the sideline rants? That's one question I'm okay with unanswered.