When I was in college, I delivered pizzas to pay tuition. One evening, I am making a deliver in the Santa Barbara suburb of Goleta near UCSB--not a big mean city, mind you. As I passed the pizza over the fence, I notice a couple sketchy cholos (18 and 20, turns out) walk by the street but keep going and I dismiss them as neighbors. After I hand the pizza over to a young boy and dad, I start to walk back to my car which is in the driveway. At this point the two men run at me from the neighboring bushes. I run around the back and they run around the front. We meet at the driver door, but I'm there a split second before them. As I am getting the car in gear, the two men stab me several times in the chest and left arm through the open driver-side window, barely missing my heart. As ill-planned as it was, the two attempted murderers (who were later convicted of said crime) actually lived in that house and convinced their younger brother ask the dad to order pizza so they could kill the pizza delivery man as part of a gang initiation. They even bragged about their plans (which also included burning my body in the nearby creek ) to someone they beat up earlier in the day. It's a stupid, crazy world sometimes. It takes a while to get over a traumatic event like that, but you eventually do, and you get a bit more cautious. I even went back to delivering pizzas, about a year later, but I switched to a pizza shop in the ritzy town of Montecito. I'm glad you made it out of there before the gunman decided to take care of the witnesses.