(May 4, 2004) — I was in search of some good Mexican food and ended up at El Tapatío on Glendale Avenue. I did not find exactly what I was looking for, but this is not a restaurant review. My four carne asada tacos hissed as I waited, and up to the place hobbled a man with a tick like a broken record come alive, pulling himself along in a wheelchair by his feet. He had on dark sunglasses, and those are the kind I hate, being the paranoid one that I am, especially when the wearer’s head is tilted towards my direction. There I was, a defenseless looking little girl nervously dining alone, and then in a perfect demonstration of why I hate those darned opaque lenses, I felt his gaze upon me. He bared his yellowed teeth in what seemed to be a smile. Like most predator-prey predicaments, there is no escape after eye contact has been established. The hackneyed exchange went like so: “Hi,” he slurred. I ignored him. “HI,” he repeated forcefully. “Hello, sir,” I finally responded. “Great to see you’re not stuck up.” “Okay.” “You are indeed a beautiful sight to behold.” “What’s that, sir?” “I said, you are indeed a beautiful sight to behold!” “Okay. Thank you.” Then…he had a nice chit chat with a man who came in with a bicycle. My “predator,” with the dark sunglasses, the slur, the tick; he was harmless and from the looks of it; he was trying to make conversation. He ordered 10 tacos himself, and I drove away, wondering if my hostility towards him was undeserved. Now, to explain my paranoia, I’ve had unpleasant encounters with strangers in the past: in front of an ice cream store a burly man who was spotted like a freshly ground meatball had said, “Would you like to come sit next to me, little girl?” No, sir, I would not. My discomfort has been shared with my friends who also appear vulnerable: one lives in downtown Los Angeles, and was walking home from school one day. A man in a white van stopped her to ask for directions. When she approached the vehicle, she saw through the open window the eager teeth of his undone zipper. She briskly walked away, wishing a pox upon the genitals of all seedy men in white vans. It really is difficult to distinguish a sick pervert from a lonely loser. Well, when in fear, use the mace. Good day.