I Had Only Come to Look at Rims

I was twenty-five, and I had bought the car three weeks earlier. It was a convertible. I had wanted one for a long time, and I was so happy to have it.

I had owned other cars, including a Mercedes and a Jaguar. This particular pleasure came from having a convertible. On a warm summer day, I could sit in it, feel the air and enjoy driving. I liked smaller roads where there was a view to look at. Given the choice, I would take those roads instead of the motorway. I drove in a relaxed way. I enjoyed being in the car.

Then I wanted new rims. Wanted is the right word. I did not need them.

I saw an advertisement, recognised the brand and called the number. The rims were advertised as seventeen inches. I knew that before I went. I arranged to see them.

This was in Sweden. I arrived expecting to look at something I might buy for a car that was giving me a great deal of pleasure.

Following them upstairs

There were people at the place when I arrived. I did not know what they were doing there. They told me to follow them, and I did.

We went into an old industrial building and up a metal staircase. I remember dirty windows. I remember wondering why we were going that way.

I had already reacted to the people around me. They did not look to me like the mechanics or salespeople I had expected. Something felt wrong, but I was already on their property. I thought that suddenly refusing to follow them might make them think something was strange.

I also told myself that this was my feeling, nothing more. I had an uneasy impression. I still followed them upstairs.

The building was a large hall. As I remember it, the upper floor extended for about half the length of the hall. Two men had come up behind me without my noticing them before. They closed the door and stood beside me. The others were in front. I remember seven of them altogether.

That was when I felt threatened. I had come to see rims, and now I was upstairs with a closed door behind me and people standing around me.

A reason to leave

They did not show me any rims. There were questions instead. They asked my name and where I lived. They asked what car the rims were for, whether I really wanted them and whether I had really come to buy them. They asked about paying by card or in cash. They wanted cash.

It felt more like being questioned than being shown something for sale. I began to think they might have mistaken me for somebody else. That was my interpretation of the encounter. I never established that it was true.

There was a lot of money on the tables. I also saw what I believed were narcotics. Farther away, on a sideboard, I remember at least one weapon.

I was afraid. Inside, I felt a little panic beginning. I was trying to work out how to get out of the situation. At the time, I thought I might not leave that place alive.

I asked about the size of the rims.

I already knew the answer. I was deliberately looking for a reason to leave, something that could make the visit end as an unsuccessful purchase.

They told me seventeen inches. I said those were too small, that I needed at least nineteen, perhaps twenty-one.

They looked at me and asked why I was there, since the advertisement had said seventeen. I told them I had missed that information, that I had only seen the brand and called the number.

That was the excuse I gave. I had not overlooked the advertised size.

They spoke among themselves in a language I did not understand. It was neither Swedish, Polish nor English. Some of them began to laugh. I could hear that, but I could not know what they were saying.

Then they told me they would accompany me outside, since I was not interested in the rims.

The way back to the car

I felt some relief, but I was still afraid. I remembered the route we had taken on the way in, and I watched to see that we went back the same way.

I was very aware of where everyone was around me and how they looked. Being told I could leave had not yet made me feel that I was safely out.

Then I saw my car.

Only at that point did I feel that I was going to make it away from there. They said goodbye and stood watching while I walked to it. I got in and started the engine. They were still looking at me. It seemed to me that they wanted to make sure I left.

I drove away.

One of the thoughts I remember afterwards was how stupid I had been. I had felt uneasy when I arrived, and I had followed them anyway. I went back over that decision: why had I continued when I had already noticed something that troubled me?

I also remembered the thought I had had on their property. If I suddenly said I had changed my mind or made a mistake, I believed that might raise their suspicions. In that moment, following them had felt like the natural thing to do.

What I would change

Today, I still think I was foolish to go there without checking the place beforehand. I had made an arrangement to see rims and arrived unprepared for what I encountered.

Now I look at the location on Google Maps before going somewhere unfamiliar. I look at the building and the area around it. I check whether the business is registered, who owns it and what reviews I can find across more than one platform. When I arrive, I pay attention to the place itself. If it feels odd or unsafe, I change my mind about going in.

Those are the things I have changed in how I prepare. I was not prepared then for that many people, for being taken somewhere inside, or for having a door closed behind me while they stood around me.

Once I was in that situation, I think I handled it as well as I could. I still believe a different response might have made things worse. I cannot know how they would have reacted. I know why I looked for an ordinary reason to leave, and I remain satisfied with how I found one.

Both judgements remain with me: I wish I had checked more before going, and I believe I handled the situation well once I was there. What I would change now begins before I arrive.