I moved to Toronto for school four years ago. Anyone who has come from a small town or even suburbia knows that moving downtown is exciting and slightly daunting.

Now, a whole new batch of students will be picking up from home and moving to Toronto for school. That also means there’s a whole new batch of parents freaking out about their child’s well-being. 

As soon as I moved out, my mom would call every day to check up on me and send countless emails with random tips. The most notable one included links to YouTube videos like this one to teach me how to protect myself in case I was attacked.

Despite my mom’s worries, I was pretty confident I could handle the city. And, although I never admitted it to her, I watched each video (twice) just in case.

While getting used to the streetcar system and avoiding the crazies in the sketchy parts of town, the frat party invites started to roll in. What better way to kick off my university experience? I convinced three of my friends to join me at a cowboy themed frat party happening in the Annex.

In our little plaid shirts and cowboy boots, we ventured into the house. There were several kegs going, tons of people and awesome music. Just like the movies. Extra precaution was taken at this party and all the walls and floors were covered with black garbage bags. Pretty smart for the people who were going to have to clean up after this thing was over.

But, at the same time, it caused a confusing, maze-like atmosphere. The house was big with lots of hallways and random rooms, which made it easy to get lost.

As 1 a.m. rolled around, my friends and I decided to head out in order to catch the subway to get to our new homes in the city. Trying to find my way out of the frat house was harder than it should be. After lapping around the house for what felt like hours, I sucked up my pride and asked someone where the door was.

“Oh! It’s right there,” said a young guy wearing a cowboy hat. He pointed to a dark doorway a mere three steps away.

“Thanks,” I said as I led my group of friends though the door.

We all piled through only to realize we were in a small, dark room. I looked back toward the entrance and saw the guy’s silhouette and heard a faint laugh.

Now you can see how things were playing out. He was probably chuckling at us four girls who can’t find the door and giving himself bonus points for being a comical genius by leading us astray.

I, of course, immediately saw him as a sexual predator.

His innocent chuckles were construed in my mind as an evil laugh and I was not about to let anything happen to me and my friends in the big, bad city of Toronto.

I marched up to him and punched him right in the face.

This is what too many self defense videos does to a young girl. I’m not a violent person. I SWEAR.

Anyway, he dropped like a sack of potatoes.

All of his friends stared at me in shock. One was especially upset that I took one of his boys down and poured his beer down my top.

I was still feeling as if I was under attack. “Let’s get out of here!”

My friends and I ran around the house for another five minutes before we finally found the door and escaped.

With my sore hand, we jumped on the subway and made it home in one piece. Amanda 1, Toronto 0.

I told people the true story the next day, but I’m sure the guy I hit didn’t.  

Ps. Dude… if you’re out there… sorry.  

~ Amanda Cupido