Attempted Robbery + Assault = Felony
Apologies if this post features poor grammar, word choice, or spelling. I just got mugged by a couple thugs down by the 7-11.
What happened?
I was walking up to the local 7-11 at around 1:10 AM. Some guy was yelling “Hey, your sister is hot” at a couple walking down the block. I figured “Hey, we’ve got a qualified douchebag on the premises here!” as I approached the beer depot.
Turns out that I end up face-to-face with the guy who was doing the yelling as I approach my late-night repository of all things alcoholic.
“You got any white?” asks the 6′3″ 250-some pound douchebag.
“You know, yeah-o…”
“No.”
I proceed into the store, the clerk asks me if I’m in to pick up my night cap, and I say “yup” - my singular goal was to acquire a beer so I could return to chatting with friends and browsing the internet in peace.
My purchase is paid for with a few quick swipes and prods at the payment console, I put the beers in my bag, wish the clerk a good evening, and head out.
Guess who is waiting for me in the parking lot? It’s that chubby fucker that was yelling at an unattainable woman and asking me for narcotics a moment ago.
His friend, equally stocky though hanging back in the shadows, is not far off.
Chubby starts walking towards me too quickly as I near the gas pumps.
“What’s in your backpack?” says Chubby.
“Nothing.”
“No, what’s in it?” Chubby says, moving into my personal space with a quickening stride.
“What the hell?” I say, thinking for a moment that I had left the house after dark without a knife. Doing so was foolish, though I have never had occasion to draw my blade in the past.
Chubby grabs me, throws me up against the gas pump. My face hits it with a satisfying “thud”.
I spin around and Chubby is putting up his dukes like he anticipates a brawl. There are two problems with this: (a) I am not going to get into a fight with a guy who is twice my size over my own property and (b) I know that his buddy isn’t far off.
I waste a moment turning to look at the entrance to the 7-11. This is exactly one moment too long. Chubby’s buddy charges from the shadows and pushes me to the ground while clutching at my backpack.
(What Chubby and his buddy do not understand is that I’ve got some expensive electronics in my bag, in addition to the beer, and there is a great deal of sentimental value attached to them - not to mention confidential business data. I would fight to the death for the contents of my backpack or my wallet, and this is why I will ensure that lethal force accompanies me wherever I go in the future)
I hit the ground hard. My right arm is still a throbbing mess, though none of the asphalt (thankfully) managed to embed itself in my flesh as it will tend to do.
Regaining a sprinter’s position, I made it back to the store.
I am not embarrassed to admit that I ran from a situation that was heavily stacked against me, though I am still shaking with shock, anger, and the “would-have-been” moments that accompany my recollection. These drunk fuckers would be bleeding and/or dead right now if I had maintained my personal security policy.
Back in the store, I see the assailants flee across the street while the store clerk asks me what happened.
I briefly relay that “those guys in the parking lot tried to jump me”.
“What the hell?” he says (and I make a note to tell him that that is exactly what I said). “I can’t call the cops, I didn’t see it happen and it wasn’t here in the store.”
“But I can call the cops…” I say, though at this point I really don’t want to be talking to cops - I just want to be “safe” (whatever that means - I’m not feeling like my present accommodations are exactly secure at the moment).
The clerk tells me that I’m cool to stick around the store for a while, and that I should call a taxi.
I hang out for a while.
The clerk and I go out for a smoke. He attempts to school me on self-defense, at which point I remind him that I’m slightly inebriated and I’m much smaller than either of the guys who attacked me (one guy, I would’ve taken my chances - two big guys is a little much).
After staring off in the direction that the attackers fled for a minute or two, I elect to get home under my own power. Quickly.
By the time I am home, my right arm is more-or-less immobilized with pain, my knees are jelly, and I’m feeling what some might call an “adrenaline rush”.
So, tonight, I talked to a real-live operator. She wasn’t especially articulate, but she did get the police the correct information, because I got to talk to them as well.
This is the first time I have been properly jumped.
I have been held up at gunpoint, but that precludes being thrown about (it’s all about the gun, especially if you haven’t got one) and rarely ends badly if you surrender your dinero muy rapido.
To Chubby and pals: I am thinking about carrying around some Abrin or Ricin, now. Just for you. (and possibly to make a buck or two)
I’ll sell it to you as “yeah-o”.
Bitches.
