Quote:
I got mugged.
Taking a jog. I live near Davis Square, which is a really great place to live, rated one of the best and trendiest in America.
Well, I'm lost in thought and jog/walk for a few hours. When I finally "wake up" I look around, completely lost.
Its really dark and fairly chilly. I look up and see that the lights are either out or broken, flashing on and off. Turns out I made it all the way to the ghetto. Joy.
My first instinct is to ask for directions to the nearest bus station. I walk aimlessly about the area, though keeping a tough look on my face that reads "I'm just another homedawg, dont bother me, I know exactly where I'm going and if you touch me I'll scream like a little *****."
Wishing that I could disguise myself as a black person, or at least that my clothes were less shiny, pretty, and rich, I make my way to a well-lighted gas station. Everyone in side, of course, is big, black, and scary looking (why couldn't I have stumbled into a place with the old-grandmaish black women you always see in disney movies?)
Everybody is looking at the white boy, so it would not behoove me to run out (I'd get capped or raped, I'm sure). I waltz up to the counter, making sure I use bad posture, dull my eyes, and speak slowly so as not to look to intelligent. I ask the cashier, who is smoking a fat cigar. He is reclined, dirty, and reading a newspaper, and doesn't even bother to look up. When somebody in the background says "white", the cashier looks up, sees my race, and looks back down in disgust.
"Know where there's a bus stop or somethin'?" I ask, making sure I sounded casual and wigga.
"No." He doesn't look up. "I dont know where there is one." Of course everyone in the station now knows that I'm a lost, confused white boy, and by my clothes, rich.
I walk out, and make sure to hot-foot my way as far from the area as possible. Not fast enough, apparently.
"Where you goin', white boy?" asked a person concealed in the alley. I just run on, pretending not to hear. After a little while I glance back to see two people in pursuit. I turn and go around the block. When I returned to the street, I thought I had lost them, but here they came, right on cue.
"You afraid, boy?"
I quickened my pace, first to a jog, then to a run. I should have remembered from Orientation, never run from pursuers, just walk casually. As it turned out, I could outwalk them, but not outrun them. Two pairs of hands grabbed my shoulders, and I was flung backward.
Some of you may remember that I am in fact a New England Tae-kwon-do championship winner. So as I fall backward I grab one hand from each shoulder, twist it, and bring them down with me. Had it not been so dark they would have recieved a foot in the face each. But I had not had enough leverage to fully twist their arms and thereby immobilize them, and to kick out would be like playing darts in complete dark. However, I released their arms and rolled backwards, leaping over the fat one and darting as fast as I could down the street.
Again, they were faster, but this time they pushed me forward. As I didn't know they were so close I couldn't block this, but I could shoulder-roll and stand up facing them. Instantly I leapt, nailing one in the forehead and the other in the nose, once again flattening them.
I see something shiny and leap aside, landing on my left and kicking at it with my right. As it turns out, I had just saved my own life (although I had put myself in danger in the first place). The gun fired just after I leapt aside, ricocheting off of a lamp post and into the unseen dark. The gun went flying across the street, clattering against a wall as it went.
Knowing that there was probably more than one gun, I gave the other one a swift kick on the side of the chin and stomping down, breaking his jaw. The other one, however, leapt up and sliced at me. I put my arm up instinctively, and it cut my across my left forearm. I twisted his hand the correct amount in the correct angle, and his wrist snapped. I tiger-struck (peeling the fingers back and striking with the palm, then grabbing the limb) his throat and held him down, then leaping up and crushing his chest under my knee. I'm sure I broke a few ribs, if not his chestplate.
As luck would have it, a bus pulled alongside me a few minutes later, which took me near the green line, and I transferred onto the red line, the T, and from there to Johnson Hospital.
I had only a few tokens in my pocket, and one out of two frustrated muggings result in the death of the muggee. Still, I ran a two-to-one risk (one in twenty when you factor in the weapons) of being killed. Smart me, yes?
No. My arm will not be fully recovered until mid-January (hospitals usually exaggerate, so it will probably be a few days less).
