I was on a family trip to California around '93 (I was 16 or so), skating up and down the streets around Disneyland. At one point I was waiting for the light to change to cross a street.
Three dudes come up to me and one guy says "gimme your board". I say no.
"I'm not kidding. Gimme your board or I'll jack you. I'm from LA. I've got a knife. I'll stab you right here" (first time I ever heard "jack").
I look around, notice that I'm all alone. I was across the street from the hotel strip, with nothing really on my side... vacant lot, strawberry fields, or walled-off disneyland or something. No people to help, anyway.
I just say no again, thinking that I couldn't buy another board. My board was a beat up piece - chipped Willy Santos "Kris Kross" model with lame fluorescent yellow (was in the bargain bin at the shop), flatspotted wheels, etc. But it was all I had and didn't want to lose it to some dick. Make no mistake - there was no "fuck you" or toughness of any kind in my "no"... More like a pleading "c'mon, please, man". I'm sure the fear was written all over my face.
I'm considering that I may be a huge idiot for resisting when he breaks into a grin and says he's just kidding. Claims to be an ex-skater who had once met and skated with Lance Mountain. I'm hugely relieved, but am fully aware that had I handed over my board, he would have kept it. He was only "kidding" when it came to following through with a knife.
The light changes. One of the other dudes asks if I have a dollar. I'm trying to be cool: "sure, dude." I give him a dollar.
I try to keep skating but my knees are shaking from the adrenaline dump.
I go back to the hotel and say nothing to my parents.