Recently, I decided to purchase a TV from Craigslist. After reviewing what was on offer, I got into an email discussion about the TV I wanted, did my research and decided to buy it. OK, so far, so good.
Now, it was time to meet this person to exchange the goods for the cash. Nothing sets off the fears in me like going alone in my car to meet a stranger. It’s not the money or being robbed. I don’t much care about that. I have an irrational fear of strangers being psychotic killers. I know it’s ridiculous, but that doesn’t stop it from showing up.
Even a stranger that lives in my neighbourhood, who geeked out about the video capabilities and how they don’t make plasmas like they used to – I found him on the internet. And checked out his web site. He gave me his phone number and email and home address. If what I know from Dexter is true, that is not exactly psycho M.O. – rent an apartment in a crowded city neighbourhood, get a phone, upgrade to a bigger TV to sell your old one – all to lure an unsuspecting woman to your house.
Still, it could happen. I’m in the car outside the house. The wheels of paranoia start rolling. His phone could be a 7-11 store phone with no traceable calling. This might not be his house, just a set up place he uses. Who knows I’m even here? I run through the people in my mind – my roommate, who is at work. That’s it?! I only told one person? What was I thinking?
I’m sitting in my car with the message typed to this guy to say that I’m here, and ready to send the text. And I’m sweating. Damn it. Shaking a bit, too. I know this is ridiculous. Just hit send. Just hit it. And I do. But, I’ve got the key in the ignition, and my hand on the shift. Ready to bolt if the situation gets dangerous.
I will just drive away. Vamoose. Scram. Diana, you are not driving away. Don’t be silly. What if he comes out with an axe?
A few painful seconds go by – dramatic tension. He came out with the TV. Not an axe, nor a chainsaw or sickle. Just a dude holding a heavy TV. He was friendly and put the TV into the car for me. We talked a bit. Still, after it was all done I drove away feeling like I’d survived a close call with Jason or Freddy or one of Dexter’s victims. Before they were victims of his.
Why do I get a case of the fears to go with the great TV I bought? Sheesh.
I have never really confessed until now. Irrational fears.
From Wikipedia. A phobia (from the Greek: φόβος, Phóbos, meaning “fear” or “morbid fear”) is, when used in the context of clinical psychology, a type of anxiety disorder, usually defined as a persistent fear of an object or situation in which the sufferer commits to great lengths in avoiding, typically disproportional to the actual danger posed, often being recognized as irrational.