The One Who Kidnapped Me

Stalker Alert Level: Yellow cause he was actually harmless

Hilarity Level: Hilarious

*Note: All conversations in this story were conducted in Turkish.

"DO YOU GO TO OYAK SITESI?" I ask the minibus driver.

"Where?" he asks, unable to hear my voice over the engine of the minibus.

"Oyak Sitesi, between Ayazaga and Seyrantepe."

"Oh, yes I do," he says.

I climb into the minibus at 11:00pm. Crammed in with me is a full load of people, some coming home from a very late night at the office, others who appear on their way to or from a party perhaps. There are so many people that many must stand. We take off from the Metro station.

Right away, I'm amused with the interior. Black lights create a dark purple glow. Rap music is pounding through an expensive stereo. The seats are all purple velvet. And he even has a television hanging down for people to watch. A mini disco ball illuminates the small cabin of the minibus in speckled light. There are Turkish flags and 8-ball stickers all over the place. He has prayer beads dangling from the rearview mirror. This, for those of you who don't know, if totally abnormal in every way. This is public transit, for crying out loud. Weird.

The bus winds through an interesting road I've never been down before, pulling away from the lights of the city and into the darkness of suburban outskirts. I wonder if maybe he'll pass my apartment complex on the way back, or if maybe this is an alternate route that I don't know about.

He stops off in a village and many people get off. Then the minibus travels out into more desolate areas until the last person gets off along an isolated road against a hill.

There are only two people left on the minibus, and only one of us knows where we are or why.

I walk up from the back of the bus and sit in the passenger seat, then ask him again when we will pass Oyak Sitesi. He looks at me and smiles. Then he pulls off the road into a dirt area and parks. Yes, he parks. He reaches into the center console and takes out a pack of cigarettes.

"Want one?" he asks, extending one to me.

Oh. No. He. Did. Not.

No he didn't. I know this sounds so Beverly Hills homegirl, but oh heeeeeeeelll no he did NOT just lie to me and say he was going to my apartment complex just to get me into the vehicle. Oh no no no. I hope, for his safety, that he didn't. Because we are out in the middle of nowhere, and no one would hear him scream.

I look him over as I firmly decline his offer. This 21-year old kid has seen too many movies with old school Italian gangsters. He's slung into the driver's seat like he's manning a 360 Modena, only one arm flung over the steering wheel, the other sucking a drag on his cigarette in carefully rehearsed coolness. All his movements are intentionally supposed to say, "I'm chill and laid back, totally suave baby."

"I asked you if you went to Oyak Sitesi. You said yes. So when are you going there?" I ask him.

"Where are you from?" he asks, now revealing a 'friendly' smile.

"I want to go home. It is 11:30 at night now, and all I want is to go home. I don't want to talk. I gave you one and a half lira to take me home. That's it. Now, do you pass it or not? Did I miss the stop?"

"Are you sure you don't want a smoke?" he asks again, reaching the box over to me.

This idiot doesn't realize that I'm actually contemplating how to overtake him as he's talking. I'm analyzing his movements and personality, because truth be told, this fight is in the mind to begin with. He's ill-equipped. He'll be lucky if he lets me win with my mind alone, because I'll fight until someone is dead if it goes physical.

"So, you will go back to the Metro now, right?" These public transportation guys have fixed routes, back and forth kinda thing.

"Yeah," he says, "in a minute, when I finish my cigarette. So, where are you from?"

"America. But I live here. I have lived here for a long time. I'm not a tourist."

He puts on the flirtatious face big time. "Hey I love America. I want to go there. You're so pretty."

You're so about to get murdered if you don't start the engine, you little Scarface wannabe.

After ten minutes of me answering every question with, "When are we going back? This is a damn minibus. Why do you think I am on it? I want to go home," he actually does start the engine and begins heading back down his route to where we came from. We pick up people along the way.

Wait, wait. You're wondering why I didn't get off before. Because we were in the middle of nowhere. I knew I could handle this guy, but if I got off in the middle of nowhere at 11:30pm, there's a chance another guy may come along who was harder to deal with. I preferred to work with my current puny opponent rather than open the door to a potentially worse one. Getting back to civilization from that point would have been very difficult. Forget walking. Forget a taxi. It's pitch black and I don't even know where to ask them to find me.

But then he does something I didn't see coming. I am sitting in the passenger seat and tell him more than once to leave me exactly where I got on. Unfortunately, everyone unloads again before we reach that point, so again we are the only ones on the minibus. And he drives right past where I told him to drop me off.

At this point, I flip out on him. (You probably think I gave him too much slack already)

"Wait wait, I'll just turn around," he says, "don't worry."

"NO!" I demand. "Pull the bus over NOW! I am getting off."

"Don't get off here. We passed your stop. I will turn around," he says, though he keeps driving straight, not turning.

I shift my tone. It's military officer. It's dominatrix. It's vocal adrenaline. It's (here comes the homegirl again): You sooooo messed wit da wrooooong bitch today mofo!!!!!

At this, he abruptly yanks the vehicle to the side of the road.

"Give me back my money!" I shout at him.

"Take all the money," he says. And I'll be damned if he isn't still flirting with his tone. The little masochist is still getting off on this a little bit. He opens the money box, which contains easily a few hundred lira.

"I don't want all the money! I want my one and a half lira! I gave you 1.40 TL to take me home, and you didn't take me home!!!!!"

I holler at him as he shrinks into his seat, saying, "Take it all. Take as much as you want." He's cowering away from me as I dig into the money box, sorting through dimes, nickels, and dollar coins to get exactly 1.40 lira.

Astonished, he looks up at me with wide eyes, mostly in total shock and fear, but also in bewildered amusement.

"Now," I demand, "open the damn door!"

He does as he's told. As I step off the minibus, he still calls out to me, "I will take you back. Come on. Don't get off here. What will you do?"

"I'll walk!" I retort. "GoodBYE!"