Dear sir,

I'd like to start by thanking you. I did appreciate the brisk efficiency with which you mugged me as I approached my front door this past weekend. Granted, I know your window of time was small since there was plenty of foot traffic on my block that evening. It was so bustling that as I walked, I let myself be distracted by the sight of a rabbit and a rat running alongside each other in the alley near my house. I remember wondering, “Are they racing, or is the rat chasing the rabbit? Is one afraid of the other or are they just neighbors, how does that work?” I glanced over my shoulder as I looked away, which is when I first saw you. But there were people getting out of their cars just a half block back, and it wasn’t even 11 o’clock.

Let me again admire the brevity of our transaction. As I turned off the street onto my walkway, I barely had time to register the sound of running feet on the grass. Just a few seconds passed and suddenly I was grabbed from behind and thrown down on my stomach. I went down so easy. I was as light and silly as a bag of cotton candy in your arms.

You wrenched my purse from the hand that was behind my back and just like that, it was over. As you may recall, I yelled "aw fuck you fuck you fuck you!" as you ran away. Then I ran in the opposite direction. Brutal but brief. Far worse things have happened this summer, in Chicago, in this heat.

I don’t know your circumstances or your reasons for doing what you did. You don’t know me either, although the sad contents of my purse might give you the general idea: A maxed-out credit card, a broken iPod, a dumbphone with a sticky keypad. A pretty disappointing haul (there was a pretty silk fan in there, so enjoy that).

Ooh, here’s something I bet lots of girls who you mug must get ALL the time: Certain people have asked me incredibly specific questions about what happened. In these instances, I can see their wheels turning as they listen to my answers and try to mentally calculate the odds of it happening to them. Measuring my answers against their theory on what they would have done. Were you walking in the alley? No. Well did you have your iPod on? No. One person actually asked me what I was wearing. Oh you know, I was in my bustier made of conflict diamonds. It was a Saturday night!

Some pretty great things that have come from this experience, though: I met a few of my neighbors, and I’ve been reminded of what wonderful and caring friends I have. One of them sent me this hot pink tactical pen in the mail today! Did you know you can temporarily paralyze someone if you hit a pressure point just right? I find that fascinating. There will DEFINITELY be some late night YouTube tutorials watched in my bouts of insomnia, I can promise you this. I’m thinking of taking up Krav Maga too! With study and practice I am confident that, in the words of Tobias Fünke, I will soon “have my own Alias-type show.” By which I mean the world will be my own Alias-type show. Specifically, the parts of the show with kick-punching.

Thanks again,

Sam

Tagged in: self-defense, crimes against women   

The opinions expressed on the BUST blog are those of the authors themselves and do not necessarily reflect the position of BUST Magazine or its staff.


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