Couple years back, I got mugged. I look back on it and think it was more of an aggressive panhandling then a mugging, but it was seven years ago and I still tell the story all the time. I never get sick of it so, I thought I’d write it down… in blogform. I even attached a visual aid! Check out the horribly stitched together picture. I’m the white guy.
September 8, 2003. A warm late summer evening that began with a trip to the Bronx. If you’re going to be a victim of a crime, the Bronx is probably the sexiest place on earth that could happen. Fortunately, no muggings, gang beatings, forced acts of sodomy or stray bullets ruined my first trip to Yankee Stadium. I’m a Mets fan, but got offered a free ticket to see the Bombers play a makeup game against Toronto. The game was unbelievably poorly attended and the Blue Jays kicked ass, 9-3. I had a perfect buzz and was chanting “Let’s go BJ’s” with impunity!
I had attended the game with my friend Bram and after the Yankees were finished pooping all over the field, we both headed back to Jersey City. I lived about fifteen blocks away from Bram, or one stop on the Path train. Because it was early and the season opener of Monday Night Football was on, we decided to watch the game at Bram’s house. On the way there, I used my last twenty dollar bill to buy smokes and a six-pack. Being 2003, this purchase only ran about twelve or thirteen bucks.
The Eagles ended up losing to the Buccaneers, 17-0, in what was the first game in their new stadium. McNabb!
Leaving Bram’s I had three options on how to get home:
1. Path train. I would have had to backtrack a few blocks and wait up to thirty minutes for a train.
2. Cab. Jersey City cab drivers like to pick up additional fairs while you’re in the cab. It’s like a little bus. So, fuck those assholes. Whenever I did end up taking a cab in Jersey City, I would never shut the door when I got out. Just to annoy the dickhead cabbie.
3. Walk. As my lazy Mom would say, from the time I was ten years old until I got my driver’s license, “It’s a nice night, you kids can walk,” because she never picked me up from anywhere EVER!
It was a nice night so I decided to hoof it, and off I went up the hill that is Montgomery Avenue. I figured this decision was a calculated risk. It was after midnight on a school night and I only had to walk passed two housing projects. Well wouldn’t you know it? There was some trouble waiting for me across the street from housing project No. 2.
If you haven’t taken a look at my visual aid, so cleverly titled “The Scene Of The Crime,” yet. Please take a gander at that right now.
If you’ll notice the sunken plaza parking lot to the right of me, “The Victim,” it was down there that I first noticed “The Perp.” As I was walking along the sidewalk, “The Perp” was shadowing me down in the plaza parking lot. (Incidentally, that plaza is home to Chun Bo Chinese Restaurant. Over the next four years I will spend about $10,000 on General Tso’s Shrimp. Call ‘em and order some of that shit! (201) 369.0010.) Anyway, I don’t think too much about my shadow down in the parking lot, because he’s got no way to get up to me… I thought. That’s when I noticed the stairs. And then two seconds after that, guess who was running up those stairs?
At this point, I'm going over the inventory of my pockets in my mind. iPod, cell phone, empty wallet, and the wad of seven or eight singles in my front right pocket.
Having completed my inventory, I put my head down and just tried to keep it moving. As I passed my shadow at the top of the stairs, he stepped right in front of me and said “You better run it.”
Having no idea if I should run or blow my nose, I quickly gave “The Perp” a quick once over and noticed several things:
1. I was at least six inches taller and fifty pounds bigger than him.
2. His left hand was in the pocket of his jacket like he was pointing a gun, or his finger at me.
3. His right hand was holding a boom box and a lit cigarette.
4. He had a scarf over his mouth.
5. He was standing at the top of the staircase.
“Pardon me?” I say. He repeated his original statement, “You better run it.” Maybe because I was drunk, or maybe cause he was so little, or maybe because I would have bet my life on the fact that he didn’t have a gun, I decided to play dumb smartass. If this guy was going to mug me, he had better come right out and say it! “You better run it?” Like the white guy walking passed the projects after midnight is gonna have a copy of the Urban Dictionary on him? He might as well have said, “See a broad to get that booty ack, lay ‘em down and smack ‘em yack ‘em,” and I would have had the same reaction. I’m sorry I don’t speak jive.
“I’m sorry, man,” I say. “I don’t know what you’re saying? Do you want me to leave really fast?” And then my little friend took it up a notch. His voice hardened and he wanted to let me know he wasn’t playing with the big dumb guy anymore. “YOU BETTER FUCKING RUN IT!” Realistically, at this point, if I just forked over my seven or eight dollars and got out of there, I didn’t care.
So, I act like it dawns on me. “Oh, do you want this?” I say as I pull my wad of crumpled up singles out of my pocket. And then the dumb motherfucker uses the hand he’s supposedly holding his “gun” with to take the money out of my hand. Well, he certainly wasn’t going to put down his boom box and cigarette.
I quickly tried to decide if I should punch and then push him down the stairs, or skip the punch and just push him. That’s when I noticed “Some Asshole” a few feet ahead. He was just standing there watching me get mugged. Quick glance behind me revealed “Another Asshole” just standing there. Sadly, both Assholes were a lot bigger than me.
In retrospect, had either “Some Asshole” or “Another Asshole” been running the proceedings at the first “You better run it,” I would have forked over my money, iPod, cell phone, bent over and pulled my pants down and then offered to pay for a cab to take us to an ATM so they could drain my checking account.
After Lil’ Perppy took all my money and I realized that I was at a major disadvantage I said, “So, if we’re done? I’m gonna run it now.” And I just walked away very briskly.
I often wonder what my money was spent on. I like to think that my assailants used to the money to buy a book for one of their children, or medicine for a sick grandparent. Or, at the very least, instead of buying the three dollar bottle of malt liquor, they splurged and bought a four dollar bottle of malt liquor.
I called the cops when I got home and described the three guys and told them exactly where they mugged me, but they refused to do anything unless I went to the station to fill out a report. I would have had to walk passed at least one set of projects to get to the police station, so I just decided to cut my losses and call it a night.
To this day, “You better run it,” is usually one of the first things Bram says to me whenever I see him. And that's the story about the time I got mugged.
Dear Porno Industry,
