I went to school in Buffalo in 1992 and the first dorm meeting with filled with all sorts of warnings and horror stories, all culminating with being raped and murdered all because someone propped open the staircase door. Or left their door unlocked. Or went to the bathroom and didn't tell their roommate. If you didn't do any of those things, you would probably not be raped and murdered. Which is generally a good thing.
When I moved to New York in 1997 I just assumed that a rite of passage was that you would probably at some point get mugged and everyday that you didn't get mugged was just good luck. I remember my Dad being thrilled that my roommate Faith and I lived next door to Al and Aileen because somehow the presence of just one male in our apartment building insured that we would not be raped, murdered or mugged. I didn't have the heart to mention that Al was gayer than the grass was green and weighed about 100 pounds. There was more of a chance of me saving him than vice versa.
One of my illustrious jobs was selling t-shirts for the Mouse when The Lion King was on Broadway. And being that we lived only seven blocks away it never occured to me to take the train home when I got out of work at 11:30 at night. Of course, if I could afford cab fare I wouldn't have "jobs", plural. One dark and lonely night I was very near to my apartment when I heard the slapping of feet on pavement coming from behind me and I thought "This is it. I'm going to get mugged." For a brief second I thought of running ahead but the group was coming too fast and in no time they would've chased me down. Plus, I had on crappy shoes and a Lion King sweatshirt. I took a deep breath. I accepted my fate. And stopped. Whooshing on by me was a gaggle of teens having a grand old Friday night. "Move it, lady", one admonished as he cruised on by me. I laughed and I moved.