Claudia Myers column: Watch your back out there

I grew up in a small town in Upstate New York in the 1950s. You can’t get much more secure than that. I often walked the 2 miles home from school with never a thought about being followed or picked up by some fellow in an unmarked van. I walked to the small public library and to friends’ houses, never once feeling afraid.

Either times were safer then or I was terribly naive. Most likely both.

When Tom and I were married he still had one year of medical school to go at the main campus of the University of Minnesota, which sprawls all over a large chunk of Minneapolis-St Paul. It was easily the largest populated area I’d ever lived in. So many people!

We were renting an apartment in an old house just off 19th and East Franklin Avenue, not the safest neighborhood in the city. To help me feel more secure, Tom leaned his grandfather’s old shotgun against the wall next to the bedroom door and added a paper flag that stuck out the top of the barrel. It read “THIS GUN IS LOADED” in big, block letters.

I’m sure if I’d confronted someone with it, they would have done great harm to themselves, falling down while laughing hysterically.

One Saturday, the project I was working on required a trip to the hardware store. Tom had gone downtown to Hennepin General Hospital to do some med student thing and had the car, so I was going to have to walk.

I could do that. Easy-peasy. I knew where the store was because we’d driven past it, only about four blocks away, and I’m pretty sure we went down 19th and turned left. Or was it 20th and turned right? Hmm. After about 20 minutes of not getting where I was going, I turned around and went the other way, and there it was: Jack’s Hardware and Farm Supply. Success!

I wandered through the aisles for about two hours, because how can you go to a hardware store and not look at everything? C’mon! As I was paying for my little bag of screws and a couple Tootsie Rolls, I asked the cashier about a faster way to get home. The guy behind me in line piped up and said, “I’ve got my car. I could give you a lift."

Did I know him? No. Had I ever seen him before? Not that I recalled. Was he respectable-looking? Sort of “Saturday scruffy,” if you know what I mean. Like he’d grabbed the car keys and headed out the door so he could get back before the glue dried.

“OK. Thanks!" I said.

All the way home, I sat in his car thinking, oh, boy, I wish I hadn’t done this. What if he isn’t as normal and non-threatening as he looks? How much would it hurt if I opened the car door and jumped out? Well, I was lucky. The guy delivered me right to my door, safe as you please. But it could have gone bad so easily.

Note to self: “That was stupid, don’t do that again."

For many years, I did costume work for the Baltimore Opera and A.T. Jones & Sons costumers in downtown Baltimore.

Several times, the director and I took the train to New York City to “shop a show” in the garment district. One of those times, Jones was doing “Martha” for New York City Opera and I was making all the hats and headpieces. I was big-time excited, no kidding.

The train ride takes almost three hours and I’d had two coffees that morning, so, after we de-trained in Grand Central Station, I spotted a women’s bathroom and was just veering off when I was yanked upright by the collar.

“Oh, no you don’t, girly!” said the director. That bathroom is an urban legend! “They” say women have disappeared from there and never been seen again. You just hold it ‘til we get where we’re going. We’ve got a show to do and I’m not losing you now. Sure surprised me!

In Baltimore, I always stayed with a friend, up on Bolton Hill, and walked the eight blocks by myself to and from A.T. Jones, where I sewed in their workrooms. They called me “that little blonde woman from Minnesota. The fluffy one," which said that my “don’t mess with me” attitude wasn’t working.

And probably explained why on the very first day I was ever there, an older lady sat me down and gave me the lecture about “staying safe in the big city, hun.” This is what she said.

Pay attention to who’s standing or walking next to you and keep an eye on them. Try to join in with a bunch of others if you can.

Carry a “weapon." One of those sewing stilettos works.

An umbrella for “whacking” purposes or Mace. If you can’t legally carry Mace, put some hot sauce in a small spray bottle. Aim for the nose. A snootful of hot sauce will stop anybody in their tracks.

Put a big rock or a heavy wrench in your purse so it’s a weapon. The short-handled bags work up a faster swing.

Keep cash and credit cards in your bra. It’s a little awkward when paying for your lunch, but being safe is the thing.

She takes a breath and winds up for her big finish and says, “If someone approaches and threatens you, look straight at them, puff yourself up, make your eyes go all wonky, bare your teeth and give a loud snarl. Y’know, hun, it always works for gorillas."

Stay safe out there.