Gas Station Encounter: Mistaken Identity at 4AM

It’s 4:10 A.M. and I’m pumping gas at a 7-11.

A ratty truck rumbles up to the pumps. 

Inside is a lone man who looks to be about my age. His window is down. 

He backs up the truck to get a full view of me and says, “You shot homeboy, right?”

This could go a few ways.

He’s not smiling. This is not a joke. 

It’s four in the morning. There’s no one around. 

I’m pumping gas into my black 2001 Ford Crown Victoria. A make manufactured to serve as police vehicles, and forever associated as such. 

I bought it off a friend. It belonged to his grandfather. Today I’m using it to drive to the airport where I’m scheduled to fly to Durango, Colorado for a business trip. 

My wife and kids are asleep in the house, less than a mile away. 

Right now, though, under the humming fluorescence of a gas pump canopy, I’m being mistaken for the person who shot “homeboy.”

From the man in the truck’s tone, I can’t determine, if, in fact, I did shoot homeboy, whether he wants revenge or a high five.  

Who was homeboy to him?

Is homeboy dead?

Was he shot by accident?

Am I about to be shot by accident?

“What?” I say back instinctively, careful to sound more confused than confrontational. 

He repeats, in the same tone, “You shot homeboy, right?”

Bad time to be a doppelganger.

How I answer, and react, will determine what happens next. 

Couple options…

I could return the pump, jump in the car, and take off. 

If I do that, in his mind, I did shoot homeboy. Even if I get away this time, I’m marked. 

I could run inside the store and call the police. 

If I do that, I may or may not have shot homeboy, but now I’m “involved in the case,” and I’m definitely missing my flight. 

That’s if the police get to me first. 

So, I did what I always do in these touch-and-go situations… 

I walked towards him.

I know, I know… From a self-defense perspective it’s the stupidest move available; giving up distance and obstruction to a potential attack. 

Yet, for better or worse, my best weapon in these scenarios has always been connection.

A decade traveling the country alone and living in the barrio of Chicago found me in all kinds of moments where someone saw me as either a victim or a threat. I don’t know martial arts and I don’t carry weapons. So, I connect. 

Once you have a connection, you have a chance to clarify. 

I’m not who you think I am. 

I’m someone different. 

Let’s start fresh. 

As I approached the truck, the driver got a better look at me. His expression changed. 

“Oh. Never mind,” he said. 

And sped away. 

Durango is gorgeous.