The sidewalk was dark and empty save for the two young men who had suddenly surrounded me. The hair on the back of my neck raised; there was a sudden emptiness in the pit of my stomach.
Although I had not much experience with physical confrontation, I immediately saw the danger.
“Discretion is the better part of valor,” I had heard once long ago. It was time for active discretion.
The street momentarily empty, I turned quickly and darted across traffic to the other side.
Or as close to darting as I could manage.
I didn’t stop running for another 50 yards. Adrenalin is God’s blessing.
Convention City, USA
Las Vegas is a big convention destination, and for good reason. If you spend any time with a major corporation in a sales or marketing role, you will have the opportunity to help staff the vendor booth at a major national trade show. This means places like Chicago, Orlando, Houston, Los Angeles, or Las Vegas.
It also means comfortable shoes, a plastic smile welded in place, a silenced cell phone, a continuous supply of breath mints and an exhausting day.
It was about 2005. The company I worked for was active in our industry, and some of us were called upon to manage the booth at two national trade shows each year. The experience was not bad, and it was a good opportunity to connect with customers.
It was my first trip to Las Vegas. I knew I was not in Kansas anymore, because I lost $.25 in a one-armed bandit at the airport, waiting to collect my bag.
During the week, our corporate team did the customary convention activities: Attend some of the presentations, mix with customers at the cocktail hour, show off the products we displayed at the vendor booth, spend a couple of evenings with expensive food and pleasant conversation, bounce through the hospitality rooms seeking targets of opportunity.
At my level, mid-level sales management, I had the opportunity to host small meetings in private conference rooms to hear product complaints from disappointed customers who wanted a piece of me.
And also to host other small meetings in the same private conference rooms with disappointed suppliers who wanted a piece of me.
As I say, exhausting.
There was little free time, and there should not be. The national convention is a unique time when suppliers and customers are all gathered. That is why the convention organizer can extract such enormous booth fees from the commercial vendors. It’s all part of the game.
Relaxation is not on the schedule
On the only free evening of that week, after a wearing day, I threw on jeans, sneakers and a tee shirt to walk to the only McDonalds available a half mile away. I was done with crab salad, crispy onion blossom appetizers and prime rib. There was a Big Mac in my future.
The evening walk was pleasant, just turning to dusk. Construction is continuous in Las Vegas, so part of my route was along a sidewalk where renovation was in progress. A line of temporary plywood panels formed a wall on my right. Temporary steel scaffolding formed a dimly lit tunnel over the sidewalk.
Numerous little kiosks, which are supposed to hold newspapers, but in Las Vegas hold flimsy newspaper-like pamphlets on cheap paper offering lurid photos of escorts for hire, dotted the edge of the curb at irregular intervals. Companionship was only a phone call away, at various hourly rates.
My farm boy instincts told me to ignore the ads.
Sudden threat
The four-lane street was not heavily traveled. There was almost no foot traffic, except for me, and the two young men I happened to be following. They were idly slouching their way along 20 yards in front of me.
I was gaining on them, so I slowed my pace, not wishing to invade their space. They muttered quietly to one another.
The three of us emerged from a stretch of scaffold canopy. There was no streetlight near, and the night was suddenly dim, the street without traffic. Nobody around but us kids. A kiosk appeared at curb’s edge.
One of the young turks, without comment to his friend, abruptly turned aside to examine the offerings behind plexiglass in the battered steel case. His companion continued to saunter forward. My stride carried me past the first guy.
Now I realized the situation: I was alone with two male strangers half my age, on a deserted sidewalk, at a construction zone, in a big city far from home. One fellow was in front of me, the other behind. I was between them.
Without conscious thought I turned and dashed across the street. Gaining the opposing sidewalk I ran to the end of the block, around the corner, and found myself on a well-lighted strip. Lots of pedestrians, lots of cars.
No one took notice of me.
Jumping at ghosts? I have no idea.
I took the long way around to Mickey D’s, enjoyed the Big Mac, which will probably hurt me worse than the unidentified street threat in the construction zone, and retired to my hotel for night of peaceful sleep.
Takeaway
“The prudent see danger and take refuge,” said the preacher, “but the simple keep going and pay the penalty.” Proverbs 22:3
There is no more clear picture of a simpleton walking into danger than that evening, where I allowed myself to be caught between strangers in a dodgy part of town. It was a high wire with no net.
A friend once told me he likes to hunt in Kansas because this state offers almost nothing that will “git ya.” He was referring to natural predators: Bear, alligator, mountain lion, tiger, wolf or shark.
I mentioned this approvingly to a veteran deer hunter who pointed out that Pepe le Pew lurks silently in the trees before dawn every morning of deer season. I took his point.
There are lots of things that will git ya. The older we get the more we realize not only the dangers, but how easily they morph into serious threats.
As babies become children, become teens, become adults, problems become less urgent and more important. The two-year-old with a clogged diaper and an owie on an arm is in dire straits. Very urgent, but as life goes, not very important.
The 40-year-old with a broken marriage, estranged children and overwhelming debt has a different set of issues: Not as urgent, but they loom large.
The septuagenarian faces issues of uncertain physical stamina, uncertain financial capability, and uncertain purpose for the remaining years.
Somehow, the wisdom from 3,000 years ago applies in each case: “The prudent see danger and take refuge, but the simple keep going and pay the penalty.”
It may be time to identify the pitfalls on your own path. There is nothing new under the sun. Challenges always fall into broad categories: Health, wealth and legacy.
Louis L’Amour’s hero lawman was asked by a worried townie: “What would you do, Marshall, if the Henry gang came to rob the bank?”
The peace officer’s laconic reply: “Well, Ed, I’d just have to take steps, is all.” (The Marshall of Sentinel, short story.)
So, consider the threats and take steps. Would that issues were so simple as to be solved by simply running across the street in the dark.
* * * * *
If you appreciate this sort of post, please be sure to click the LIKE link. Here is why: This blog appears on Substack, where millions of readers scroll daily from one headline to the next. What persuades them to stop and read is the number of LIKEs they see. If you are following The Alligator Blog, you probably think the content is worth sharing. So please, help the cause. I don’t get paid for LIKEs, and I don’t live by them. But they do help guide others to worthwhile content.
Thanks for following The Alligator Blog. For other vignettes of this type, with Biblical perspective mixed in, see The Alligator Wrestler’s 52-Week Devotional Guide at alligatorpublishing.com. Paperback, audible and eBook versions are available.
Mugged in Sin City