By Amber Self Image Magazine Protection Edition
The air in a parking lot changes when you are being targeted. It gets heavy, like the sky right before a storm breaks, and your skin starts to prickle with a warning you can’t quite name. It was December 23,2025. I was physically broken down, my body fighting the exhaustion and the fog of a strict health protocol. I was vulnerable, and in the everyday world, there are people who look for exactly that—the weak link, the distracted mind, the low energy.
I hadn’t been in the store long. When I stepped back out into the light, I looked toward the back of the lot where I had parked—far away from everyone else to keep my small car safe. But the horizon had changed. My vehicle had vanished. It was swallowed by the silhouette of a truck that had no reason to be there—a regular-sized truck with a box even with the cab, sitting like a cold metal wall.
I began walking in the general direction of where I knew my car should be. My heart stayed stiff as the truck came into focus. They had built a funnel. A shopping cart was wedged into the tiny gap between my car and that truck, creating a zone where I would be hidden. If I had followed the path they expected and tried to squeeze into my driver’s seat, I would have been trapped in a blind spot, forced to stop and move that cart while my back was turned.
But I didn’t follow their plan. I made my own. Before I even touched my groceries to the car, I took a wide, sweeping arc. I crunched over the gravel, circling the entire perimeter to check the other side of the vehicle. I needed to know if someone was crouched there, waiting to lunge out and capture me the moment I let my guard down.
I moved to the passenger side, putting the entire body of my car between me and that truck—a steel shield. As I loaded my groceries, I didn’t look down. I looked straight into the cab of that truck. I found his eyes in the darkness, and he was looking right back at me. I didn’t blink. I stared at him until he realized the element of surprise was dead. I let him know I wasn’t a victim; I was a witness. He sped off so fast his truck slammed into the cart, sending it flying into my car. When he was gone, he left a piece of evidence behind: a blue surgical glove, turned inside out. It was a cold reminder of a person prepared to touch a life and leave no trace.
Were you thinking this was human trafficking as you read my story? Because that is exactly what I was thinking. This is why I am sharing this with you. Trafficking does not only happen in parking lots; it happens in many different ways, and it looks different in every situation. But the core—the exploitation—is always the same. We have to recognize the patterns. Trafficking can be about grooming you through “job opportunities” or “new relationships”.
This includes sex trafficking, which involves exploitation through force or fraud and tragically includes child trafficking. It also includes labor trafficking, where people are forced to work for little to no pay, trapped by debt or threats. Predators often use a grooming loop, utilizing social media or local hangouts to find vulnerable people, especially children, to pull them into the system.
When you are in a situation that feels dangerous, you need tools. There is a universal help signal you should know: if you cannot speak, hold your palm out, tuck your thumb, and fold your fingers over it to trap the thumb. If you are at a bar or restaurant, you can use the “Angel Shot” code. Ordering it “Neat” asks for an escort to your car; “With Ice” asks the staff to call a ride or Uber; and “With Lime” tells them to call the police immediately.
Most importantly, trust the physical warning your body gives you. If your skin pricks or something feels wrong, don’t ignore it. Turn around. Go back into the store. Ask for an escort. We look at these realities because that is the only way to make sure we stay safe. Protecting one of us is protecting all of us.
Self Image 