Cops and Robbers

I got a little bit muggged last night—I say a little because, despite the nothing-good-can-come-of-this feeling of being pulled off into a shadowy vacant lot by a man holding a gun, he didn't take my wallet (only my cash), and after my last run-in with crime all I could think about was that I really, really didn't want to have to go back to the DMV in Georgetown to replace my license. That—and crapcrapcrap—ran through my mind in the 2.0 seconds it took for my demeanor to change from one who was elated at having picked up the take-out half smoke just before Ben's closed and one who was -$30 more miserable. (Less wealthy? Plus-minus, whuh?)

I've been mugged before, mostly while traveling. Once, nearly, in Naples by some Gypsy kids, but I was able to beat the crap out of them and run away. Gypsies throw babies—you can't be squeamish about slapping a 10-year-old, or the Gypsies have already won. Once in Moscow by the police, who kind of beat the crap out of me—but I think among Russian authorities that's probably known as a "fruit basket" for welcoming students and tourists. There was this one time in Tampa when I was party to a mugging: a grave-looking gang of Haitians stopped me and my skinny rude-boy friends and more or less out of spite for us/amusement at us made my two-tone friend give him all his virgin-mint julep money. And once in Austin, on Christmas Eve or maybe Christmas Eve's Eve, an operation that was bungled by my not having any money to give this guy who only really looked like he just needed a spot to get his Fender out of the pawn shop. He had a tiny knife and said "give me your cash," and I remember thinking, what? are you serious, you hoser, I don't have any money.

In any event, I made it into my front door and, after a holy-shit phone call or two, I called the police, who woke me up when they arrived about an hour later and proceeded to berate me for walking home from the neighborhood bar at 2 am, after having consumed alcoholic bevarages. Well, fuck a lot of that, I drunkenly grogged, and told them that it was only a bad idea because police in this town cannot be depended upon to do their jobs. I was drunk, they were useless, some clown's got my $30. Three people I know told me stories this week about friends getting jumped or mugged near U Street and now the half-dozen readers of the Urban Coyote have that story, too. Howling mad—I'm howling mad!