I looked at him and smiled. Here was a man who was perfect for his chosen profession. He was kind, polite, and there was real intelligence shining from his soft blown eyes. In my opinion he was the perfect security guard. You could not help but feel safe in his presence. Not only did he have a nice fatherly face, but he was big enough that any football coach would have been crazy not to have recruited him for the high school team.

“Yeah lady, if you feel scared we can take you to your car,” the second security guard chimed in.

My gaze shifted to the smaller man, and I had to fight to keep the smile on my face. This man did not engender trust, safety, or calm feelings of any kind.

About the kindest feeling I could dredge up when I gazed at his rodent-like visage was sorrow that the poor man had to go through life at such a disadvantage. Not only was he puny, but his resemblance to the rat family certainly did not instill trust—or tolerance.

The more I thought about it, the more I knew I should feel sorry for this guy. He must have been the last person chosen for the team at every playground game as well as the last boy left standing at dances.

I had no clue as to his background, but this puny little man exuded guile and dishonesty. He gave off weird, creepy vibes that warned everyone in the vicinity that they had better beware, a predator was near.

If I spotted this guy following me down the street, with his squinty eyes and shifty look, I would find a safe haven as quickly as possible, all the while hugging my purse tightly to my side.