“We’re not getting in his car,” I said. “We don’t know him. People get kidnapped, murdered or sold into slavery when they get into a stranger’s car.”
My roommate and I were on the apartment hunt and the guy on the phone was telling her that although he didn’t know the exact address of the apartment we wanted to see, he could pick us up on a certain corner and take us there. My instincts instantly told me that this wasn’t a good idea, as did the past week’s headline news of various young women who were found murdered or abused after answering ads on Craigslist.
“I’m sorry,” my roommate responded. “I don’t know you so I don’t want to get in your car. Can you just tell us the address?”
After a minute or two, the real estate agent called back and told us the address of an apartment about four blocks from where we were waiting, located above a sports bar. Later, as we were scoping out the bedrooms, I could feel the walls thumping to the beat of an R&B song. This was the deal-breaker, but for a young couple checking out the apartment with us, it was a possibility.
“It’s just like that show, ‘How I Met Your Mother!’” he said excitedly. “I’m Marshall, you’re Lily, and we could be living above what could be our future go-to bar!”
“Whoa there, cowboy,” she said. “It’s not that easy living above a bar.”
That couple later ended up with my roommate and I, crammed in the backseat of the agent’s car as he drove to take us to another apartment. We figured it was a “strength in numbers” situation. Plus, the agent seemed more of a “take your wallet and abandon you” type of guy than the murderin’ type.
By the third apartment, my roommate and I were alone with the agent in the car. The sky was slowly turning into night and the agent, running out of small talk, asked us, “Were you the ones who didn’t want to get into my car?”
“Yes,” we said, laughing nervously. “You know what they say, “better to be safe than sorry.”
“Better safe than sorry…” the agent repeated slowly. “I suppose you’re right. You know, this reminds me of something I once saw on CSI, or actually, I think it was Without a Trace. Anyway, it was about a young woman who saw a Craigslist ad for a Lamborghini. She met the man selling it for a little test drive and decided she wanted to buy it. Then he got into the driver’s seat and said he’d drive the woman home, but he didn’t. He kept the doors locked and drove and drove while the woman screamed for help. But nobody heard her. Nobody.”
“That’s horrible,” I said, after a moment of silence.
“Nobody heard her scream because there was a thunderstorm,” he said. He looked at me in the rearview mirror. “So you’re right. Never get in a car with someone you don’t know.”
“Umm…exactly,” I said.
“Lucky for you, I’m just a real estate agent!” he laughed. “And the weather is good! Let’s see the next apartment, shall we?”
