The saga of Creepy and Scaredy Cat

It was around seven thirty in the evening and I was walking down a busy street, going home. I passed a guy sitting on a bike. He leered and mumbled something about me being a baby, and other such endearments. I nobly ignored him and kept going. Unfortunately, Creepy interpreted this act of walking by as encouragement and followed me on his bike. He went past me, mumbling again, and stopped the bike about 20 meters ahead of me. I wanted to cross the road and avoid his charming company, but just then the traffic poured on at an alarming rate and I was forced to walk past him. This was, of course, as good as wearing a silk negligee and pointing at a bed. I decided that I did not want Creepy to know where I lived, so I oozed into a supermarket. I dumped a bunch of veggies into the trolley and imagine my horror when I looked up and saw Creepy standing right there, leer firmly in place. Rather loudly, I told him that if he did not leave me alone I was going to call for help. I threw in an expletive or two for good measure. He appeared flabbergasted that I assumed that he was stalking me, hurt that I had betrayed him after positively stringing him on and left post haste. At this point the electricity supply gave out and the road outside plunged into darkness. I could not see if he was lying in wait so I was forced to lurk in the aisles for over an hour, seething and scared. I am convinced they thought I was trying to shoplift. I eventually summoned a friend to pick me up and drive around for a bit, just to be sure that I had lost Creepy.
I am astounded by how angry I still am. I am ashamed of how scared and unheroic I was. I still catch myself day dreaming about kicking him in the nuts and watching him writhe in unspeakable agony.