No, I Don't have a Pic.

I don't know how to write this post without sounding like a pompous ass, so I'm just going to go at it and let the chips fall where they may.

AOL chatrooms are hysterically funny. The discourse is distilled to the lowest form of communication and the niceties of real society evaporate. Now, I've been in Sidetrack at closing, so I've seen rude; but at least I'm not forced to look at naked pictures of hopeful sweethearts. I've chatted with really nice people, but I've also experienced the charms of some real asses. My philosophy is, and always has been, I don't type anything I wouldn't say in front of my grandmother in church.

Let me just say, that for the record, I've met exactly two people in person whom I've chatted with. The first was very shy and completely incapable of a conversation that didn't involve typing and the second turned into a stalker. This is why I don't have a picture to trade online. I don't know, really, who is getting it or what they plan to do with it. I also don't share any specific information that could immediately identify me.

The stalker was many years ago when I was very young and naive. Do you remember phone sex chat lines? Before the internet? Well, the started during the first rush of the AIDS panic, but they were initially advertised as great ways to meet people. I was new to Chicago, knew almost no one, and as I said, very naive. I only spoke to people who were polite. The minute the other guy became vulgar I'd move on. That's pretty much the routine I use in chatrooms.

However, there was one guy who was very nice on the phone, and I agreed to meet him. We decided on Leona's. Since he was coming from the suburbs, and not sure of his directions, he made several stops and would call. With each stop, his calls got more graphic and disturbing. Still, I agreed to meet him. But I went in through the back and waited where I could watch people come in. I spotted him immediately. He was small with a hawk nose, but the thing that disturbed me was what he was wearing: a ski jacket over a suit. That was the deal breaker.

I know it's shallow, but I was twenty-two. And since his calls had gotten disturbing, I decided to bag the whole thing. I rationalized that it was better to be the asshole who stood him up than to be rude to his face. Big mistake.

I wasn't home more than five minutes when my buzzer rang. I was in the middle of checking my answering machine. In the time it took for me to walk three blocks home he'd left two angry messages. Apparently, he'd called reverse information and gotten my address and was at my door. Leaning on my buzzer. There was no way I was going downstairs to confront him, so I went out my back door and to a movie. When I came home, there were six or seven messages; each getting progressively more violent. When he threatened to kill me if he ever saw me, I called the police.

There was one thing going in my favor. He'd never seen me. The police were no help. They told me that technically, threatening an answering machine was not illegal. The phone company was more helpful, instructing to leave an outgoing message stating that my phone was being monitored and all threatening phone calls were being forwarded to the police. That stopped the calls, but it upset my mother horribly. I lived in that apartment for seven years after that, and I think it was three before I used the front door.

But the story doesn't end there. Maybe six or seven years after that incident, I went out to the way-west suburbs to a Christmas party. I took the train out. I was at the party for about three hours before I realized that my stalker was also a guest at the party. Since he'd never seen me, and years had passed, I wasn't too concerned, but I kept my distance. Until I went home. Turns out, he took the train out too, and we rode back into the city together. Of all things, he was chatting about getting into politics. He wanted to be an alderman. We talked about the neighborhoods where he might want to run. When we started talking about my neighborhood, I made the mistake of saying something that rang a distant bell in his head. He was looking at me differently. He couldn't be sure of who I was, but he thought he knew. I just continued to chat until we got back to the city. I never returned to that Christmas party again.

So, I go into chatrooms, but never for anything more than to keep my computer online. Occasionally I'll receive an IM from someone who is able to carry on a conversation, but the conversations usually end when I tell them I don't exchange pictures. I'd rather be shunned in an AOL chatroom than killed in my living room.