Raped and Robbed Part I

In my sweet, little suburban hometown of Bountiful, Utah the only thing people don't do religiously is lock their doors. My family once came home from a week-long vacation to find that we had been cooling the outdoors with our ostentatiously open front-door for probably the entire week. An overview of the house reassured us that nothing had been taken and our faith in our little town remained intact. This faith, however, did find exception in my childhood friend's home where the front door is always dead-bolted to ensure that no one is, as my friend's mother puts it "raped and robbed." Every UPS delivery person and slimy solicitor must wait those few extra and awkward seconds for the homeowner to unlock both the door-knob and the dead-bolt. Those of us familiar with the family know it is best to announce our intended visit well in advance and to use the side door. Despite my friend's mother's precaution, I always thought it a silly one in our land of milk and honey. I had always considered myself blessed to live in such a safe and trustworthy town, until I came to the land that rivaled it for nectar and ambrosia.

In the even smaller, rural Southern town of Lexington, Virginia where I make my residence nine months out of the year the residents don't just leave their doors unlocked, they leave them open for you. This spirit of trust grows from Honor System at the university that comprises half the town. This student-run and upheld system maintains that no student will lie, cheat, or steal. There is one consequence for engaging in any and all of these actions: immediate expulsion from the university. The Honor System is so effective that students, including myself, often leave their books, laptops, iPods, cellphones, designer bags, etc. unattended in the common areas of the university for hours and even days without incident. The respect for the belongings of others and the reverence in which we hold the Honor System is such that dollar bills have been left untouched on the ground for days until someone claims them. This sense of honor extends to and is supported by the town surrounding the university. My friend once witnessed a gentleman park his car on the street and exit his vehicle leaving the keys still in the ignition and the car running with the door wide open while he ran into Wal-Mart.

The freedom and ease with which one moves about the town is like nothing I had ever experienced in Bountiful and I became so accustomed to leaving my things wherever it pleased me, that I had trouble NOT leaving my bag in the open air when I returned to Bountiful for holiday. I soon realized that Lexington, Virginia is not the real world and an airport is not Lexington. If it weren't for the annoying lady over the PA in the airport telling patrons to not leave their bags unattended or accept anyone else's bags, I would be under interrogation for terrorism right now. Every time I had to leave my gate in the terminal to get a spot to eat or powder my nose (actually, I didn't have powder for fear it would be mistaken for anthrax) I was forced to pack up my books and laptop and strap my bag to my body like a suicide-bomber on a mission (oh the irony) in a cumbersome and tedious act of compliance with real-world rules. By the end of my traveling, I was beginning to think it would have been worth it to stay in Lexington just to save myself the backache of having my heavy carry-on permanently strapped to my back like a papoose.

I naively believed that once I had arrived back at Bountiful that I could return to my old habits, but alas, even the land of milk and honey seemed like the sketchiest streets of Chicago compared to the place from where I had just come. I had to lock my car and keep a close claw on my purse. I didn't care if that Mormon mother with seven children looked as if she walked around with a clap-on, clap-off halo on her head. More likely one of its lights was burned out and she had copious amounts of Prozac coursing through her veins, making her capable of any type of misconduct that one would only do under the influence or in a state of extremely ill mental health, or both. I couldn't even leave my laptop in the family room of my own home without someone messing with it until it threatened to self-destruct. It was then that I realized how good I really had it and how twisted the real-world actually was. An innocent effort to keep up on the news revealed enough wrong-doing in the world to snap me back into reality. In real time, people are dishonest and untrustworthy. They hate each other and think of clever ways to kill each other. In the real world, the nicest person you meet could also be the most perverted; and above all, there is always the chance that you could be raped and robbed.