Influence

[If you know me a while, you might have read this story before. I haven't thought about this experience in a long while, but a friend of mine and I were talking about it yesterday, and it seemed like a good time to republish]

- - -

“I don’t want to hurt anybody.” said a deep voice from behind my right shoulder.

Seated at my desk, I turned my head around slowly and saw the figure of a person looking like a kung fu movie ninja, dressed completely in skin-tight black.

Shiny synthetic sweatpants, a long-sleeved tee shirt, gloves, and a ski-mask covered head…

Standing in my bedroom doorway, with a large kitchen knife in his left hand.

All I could see of him were the reddish whites of his eyes and the dark skin of his eyelids - everything else was covered up.

“This is weird” I thought “I must be dreaming. That guy's got my new knife.”

I shook my head quickly, suddenly realizing this was real.

“OK, wake up John. There’s an armed robber in your home, and now you have to deal with him…”

The moment of surreal disbelief was actually a piece of good luck.

It gave me time to take a breath, and not freak out about this crazy situation.

It was after 10pm, and the Fiji sun had set around 7.

All the lights in the long, narrow, single-storey apartment were off, except for a single ceiling tube light in my small study, beside the main bedroom at the end of the hall.

He must have come straight here when he got in the apartment because of that.

I had been typing at my computer, absent-minded in concentration.

We had just moved into the apartment 3 days before.

In our last place in the suburbs, we often forgot to lock the doors at night, and never had a moment’s trouble.

This place was different though, 2 streets away from the town’s main tourist drag.

But I’d become complacent after a couple of years of easy living, and failed to take account of the change of environment.

The apartment was absolutely quiet, apart from the swishing buzz of the ceiling fans.

That meant my wife and our 2 kids were probably still asleep down the hall - and this guy was acting alone.

If he’d brought a posse, I’d already have been hearing my wife screaming.

God knows why, but I remembered what I had read in Cialdini - about restaurant waiters getting quick rapport by repeating diners’ orders verbatim:

- “Good. I don’t want you to hurt anybody” I replied

“You can take whatever you want.”

- “I want cash and jewelry” he said “no phones or laptops.”

Ok, so this guy wasn’t a rank amateur - he knew the police could trace electronics.

But he didn’t seem like a stone cold pro either.

The brand new kitchen knife in his hand was definitely mine - we had just gone shopping at the local department store two days before.

His eyes were bloodshot red, my guess was from weed and alcohol - hopefully not meth.

It was a hot tropical night and he must have been sweating in that ninja costume.

He hadn’t overtly threatened me, or attempted to aggressively dominate the situation immediately.

His silent sneaking suggested a lack of confidence.

Though never a very brave person by nature, I was surprised by how calm I felt.

- “I’ve got $280 in my wallet” I said “I’m going to go in my pocket and get it out”

He gave a small gesture to indicate that was ok.

I removed the wallet from my pocket, took all the cash out from it along with my ATM card, and laid it on the desk corner closest to him.

- “I’ll write down my PIN for you” I said, picking a pen off the desk and writing four digits on a notebook page.

I tore the corner of the page from the notebook, then placed it with the cash and card.

- “There’s money in that account” I said. “If you run to the ATM you can take out my daily limit of $1,000.”

- “What about other cash?” he asked.

- “I don’t keep cash around the apartment. I knew sooner or later someone would come to rob me.”

- “And jewellery?”

- “I don’t keep jewellery either. Just my wedding ring, which I’m not going to give you.”

Actually I would have given it rather than take a knife to the chest, but I wanted to feel out the boundaries of this interaction.

He picked up the money, card and scrap of paper from the desk, and secreted it away somewhere… Then I remembered Cialdini again: liking, similarity, and authority.

I knew which ethnic group the man belonged to from his accent…

And his ethnic identity made it about 95% likely he was a Christian - in name at least!

- “I know you’re a Christian” I said “So God bless you. Nobody needs to get hurt here. Take that money, go get another $1’000 from the ATM. Don’t hurt my family tonight, and everyone gets to walk away safely.”

He didn’t say anything, but I guess he decided it was time to leave

- "OK let’s go” he said “follow me out, but don’t come close”

He started backing down the corridor with the kitchen knife still pointed at my chest.

I walked after him at a 2 metre distance, keeping my hands up, palms forward, and elbows at 90 degrees - All to make it clear I was unarmed with no intention to attack.

It was a 5-second walk to the lounge.

He stopped near the door.

Suddenly my wife entered the room from the children’s bedroom at the other end of the hallway.

She took one look at the man, startled and froze.

I saw him looking at her gold necklace, earrings and wedding rings.

I’d heard the stories from other ‘local foreigners’, and I knew what would happen if he got near my wife.

She’d freak out, then he’d freak out.

He’d lose his cool, then someone would get stabbed.

If he stabbed me before I stopped him, he’d probably rape my wife before killing her.

And God only knew what would happen to the children.

- “Go in the bedroom. Lock the door” I growled at her in a low voice.

The harshness of my words must have struck her.

I didn’t often speak like that.

Her face was frozen in fright, but she moved quickly back to the bedroom without a word, and I heard the door click.

I took 2 steps behind the sofa, putting some crucial distance - and an obstacle - between me and the man at the door.

The man looked at me.

- “Tell her to come back out.”

There was a high table behind me with 4 heavy wooden stools.

I could pick one up before he could get to me…

I could smash him with it and beat him to death before he got close enough to stab me.

No.

Bad idea.

Burglar or not, the police would love to arrest and prosecute a foreigner for assaulting or even killing a local.

The local news rag could put a racial spin on the whole thing, and dine out off my sorry carcass for months.

I’d be front page news and the local station cops would all get to be on TV and have their face in the papers.

No - I’d negotiated this far without violence.

I could finish this encounter off without anyone getting hurt.

- “She’s not coming out” I replied “she’s looking after the children in the bedroom. You don’t want to hurt them. God bless you. Take the money and go, you can get more if you’re quick.”

He edged closer to the door, then stopped.

- “You got any juice?”

‘Juice’ is Fijian patois for Coca-Cola, or any other carbonated soft drink.

It was something I never kept in the apartment, because I didn’t want the kids in the habit of drinking it.

But just that afternoon, a colleague had come by with food from a new barbecue joint that had opened in town.

And he’d brought me a 1 litre bottle of Pepsi, which I put straight in the fridge and forgot about - until now.

God Bless Serendipity!

- "Yes I do. Wait there, I’ll get it from the fridge."

The lounge and kitchen were open-plan so I could walk to the fridge without leaving the room.

I crab-walked sideways toward the fridge, keeping my eyes on him the whole time.

He didn’t move, and I could see he was less agitated than a moment before.

I guess my wife had startled him just as he had startled her.

I took the Pepsi bottle from the fridge, then walked back over to the sofa, keeping it between us.

I outstretched my hand.

He took a step forward, reached out and grabbed the bottle, then stepped back beside the door.

I took a step back.

- “OK, now go. Get the money.” I reminded him.

- “Lock this door behind me. Don’t come outside” he said.

- “OK, I won’t.”

He opened the screened steel security door, walked outside, and pushed it closed behind him

- then he was gone.

I walked quickly over to the door and locked it behind him.

Seconds later, my wife came out of the bedroom and shouted at me to call the police.

It would be more than 6 months before the paranoia from that night left us, and we could sleep well at night again.

I hope you sleep well tonight though 😉

Your friend,

John Caprani