I lived in Nashville, Tennessee for 13 years and during that time, that city’s crime rate rose to among the top twenty in the nation and I was a victim three times.
One day while I was inside my son’s school, someone broke the window of my car and stole my cell phone. That was number one. Insurance took care of everything and I was never in any physical danger.
Next, my purse was stolen in a grocery store parking lot. I was loading my purchases into the trunk of my car when another car pulled dangerously close, a hand reached out and grabbed the purse from the baby seat of the grocery cart. Again, no physical harm – nothing injured save my dignity and feeling of being secure in my environment.
The third incident happened as I was driving to work down Ellington Parkway. As I neared an overpass/walking bridge to drive under, I noticed a young man standing in the middle of the bridge holding a large object. With perfect timing, he dropped it and I slammed on my brakes. The boulder struck my front bumper, leaving a huge gouge in the paint. I swerved and recovered as he ran across the bridge and disappeared. Now this was scary. If I had not hit the brakes, the chunk of concrete would have hit the hood of the car, or perhaps crashed through the windshield.
These things happened during the last few years I lived in Tennessee. No wonder that when I retired I moved to small-town Arkansas, where many people leave their houses and cars unlocked. But not me.