Nothing major, lotsa (relatively) minor stuff, I guess:
Guy broke into my apartment, was laying for me when I came home. Thought I was someone who supposedly had sexually assaulted his sister. He actually left when I showed him my ID. Really wish I had managed to detain him for the cops.
Chased by some drunken idiot in Denver who apparently decided I had driven down his street too fast; guy first tried to run me off the road, then when that didn’t work, pulled out a .22 pistol and fired off a shot. I got away, so did he.
Car broken into twice in Denver, both times by smashing a window; one thief took nothing, the other nothing but the knobs off the radio (WTF?)
Attacked, for no apparent reason, by a drug-addled fool on the Rue St. Denis in Paris; he hit me over the head with a half-full plastic bottle of Pepsi, then ran off, shouting incoherently. I still have a small lump on my head as a souvenir.
Four cases, also in Paris, of people trying to pick my pocket; three of these attempts were successful. One happened at my place of work (my wallet was in a jacket hanging over my office chair; the thief only took the money and left the wallet).
Another car break-in, in a seacoast town in France whose name escapes me at the moment, which resulted in my losing a nice leather jacket, my wallet (again!) and my passport. Although this happened more than 15 years ago, I get hassled by immigration officials every single time I re-enter the US because their computer system lists the stolen passport.
One more wallet theft (sigh), on a tram in Rome on the way to the Vatican. You’d think I’d have learned by this point, wouldn’t you?
All these happened prior to 1998. Since then, knock wood, I’ve never had a problem.
I had my entire CD collection stolen in one of the two burglaries we had years ago. Luckily I had just taken a picture of our stereo (the CDs are in single rows next to it). I got out a magnifying glass and wrote down every title and got a replacement price from the record store. Made it a little easier to get enough money from the insurance company.
Several things that my parents and stepfather did to me and my sister where illegal or of questionable legality.
As an adult, I’ve been fairly lucky. I had a debit card stolen once when I was 25 or so and I had a glas bottle thown at me from a moving car (acompanied by the thrower yelling “Fag” at me) The bottle missed me barely: I was hit by glass bits, but nothing that really cut and not in my eyes. The odd thing about the bottle is that it seemed totally random: I wasn’t near a gay gar or anything of that sort.
When my brother and I were in High School, our father spent a lot of time away from home doing what he pleased. Our house became the hangout of my brother and his friends. They were all drug users and I suspect some of them were dealing.
One night, I didn’t get off of work until after dark. I didn’t have a car, and I didn’t have anyone to call for a ride, so I walked home.
A large figure stepped out of the shadows in front of me and said, “Gimme your money.”
I was scared. Then I went, “Tony? Is what you?.”
“Hey! You’re Mouse_Bro’s sister! I didn’t recognise you! I really need some cash, do you have any?”
I’ve had my flat burgled once (I wasn’t at home) and been mugged once (by a gang of around five or six guys on a night bus; one tried to grab my phone, another started punching me, the others were screening what was happening from the other passengers - fortunately an off-duty copper dived in to help me out).
I’ve lived in NYC long enough to be mugged a few times. Remarkably, not sucessfuly. Once, staying at a friends place, came home late, some asshole followed me upstairs and try to push his way in behind me. I still feel guilty about luring him back to my friend’s apartment (I’m willing to blame the victim here). As soon as I opened the door and he tried to get in, their two Irish Wolfhounds went crazy. He ran like a scared rabbit. I’ve always thought keeping dogs the size of ponies in a Manhattan apartment was insane but I was happy about them that night.
Then there was the night I was going home from work to Brooklyn late at night. Guy came at me with what turned out to be a pastry cutter. All I saw at the time was silver. I ran out of the subway and unbelievably found a cop car just down the street. And unbelievably (or maybe not, he didn’t seem so bright) found him strolling down Houston with my bag on his shoulder. Didn’t even run. Of course then I had the problem of getting my stuff back from the police.
And then there was the time I was beat up by a hairy French chick. A druncken hairy French chick. A drucken hairy jealous French chick. Who thought I was hitting on her boyfriend becase my (male) friend introduces us a few hours earlier and we were…talking! Walking and talking. Shamelessly.
Well, good tales number one. And these are fascinating - Bricker, that was hilarious. I’m sorry for the sad ones, though.
What I was actually thinking, at 2:00 this morning, was that MamaWorry is really, really strong when kids are little. We worry constantly. But I have a hunch that small children make up a very small minority of crime victims.
Someone elsewhere (no cite) mentioned a recent poll where people were asked how many children were abducted each year. Popular answer - around 5,000. Truth - 115.
I was attacked in my dorm room when I was 18 - guy caught me from behind (music was on and I never heard him come in) and choked me until I passed out. He was in the process of removing my clothes when I came to - I guess he didn’t want me to see him because he threatened to kill me if I said anything to anyone and ran.
I had some CDs and a cowboy hat stolen from my car.
My apartment was broken into when I was in grad school - got all my electronics(TV, VCR, stero, etc.) I know who did it - the crackheads downstairs - but could never prove it.
Someone picked up my wallet last Friday when I dropped it in a resturant bathroom and didn’t turn it in. I just got my license back today. Grrrrrr.
I was raped by two men when I was 18. I was a virgin at the time. Since I had previously dated one of the men, the police discouraged me from filing charges. I wish I had insisted on prosecuting these creeps, but the cops and my parents were quite persuasive in urging me to shrug it off.
About 10 years ago I was kidnapped by one of my charges and forced at gunpoint to drive around town for several hours. The worst part of the crime? About two hours in he put “Sweet Potato Pie” by Domino on repeat. I can still hear that damn song.
Do you mind, Beaucarnea, if I ask what you mean by your “charges”?
Funnily enough, I believe I may have had my Fourth Amendment rights violated in high school when I was about 16. The administration searched an entire class, on the basis that one person had been carrying weapons at school. (The fact that our class was the group that turned him in notwithstanding, apparently.) If I read the legalese rightly, school administrators need “individualized suspsicion” for a search, so I believe this may indeed have been an illegal search.
One of my first jobs with DHS was working at a group home for teenagers with felony charges. “Charges” refers to the kids I was responsible for until they had permanent placement. Something between a parental role and a custodial role depending on the needs of the child.
My first partner tried to get a cash advance off my credit card (unauthorized) and forged one of my checks. I was 21; the relationship didn’t last long.
When I was married the first time and living in Denver our apartment was burglarized while we were out shopping. The police came and dusted for fingerprints but the only good one they got was outside and they said that didn’t count, because there was no proof that that person got in. Even if it was on the frame of the window that was broken just enough to reach the lock. Our stereo was stolen. It was the only thing we owned of any value.
It was in Denver also when, while walking to work one day, I was naive enough to believe that the man sitting in his car really wanted directions. I was at least smart enough to stay out of grabbing range, but when I saw what he was doing I started to leave. He asked me to stay until he finished, but I said, “No, thanks,” and went on to work.
And also in Denver, and also during that marriage, was the obscene phone caller, the one my husband wanted me to talk to, in the hopes that the guy really did have husband’s lost dog. Some indication of why that was my* first* marriage.
The only one that really counts is the home invasion of five years ago. (I was 45 if you must know.) Some kid got into our house while we were sleeping. I woke up (which I never do) and scared him off just as he was entering our daughters’ bedroom. Police said he was probably a peeper who had recently “moved up”. Fortunately, they caught him some time later when he tried the same thing at another house in town, where the dad just happened to be sleeping in the family room and woke up.
My sister’s townhouse was burgled a few years back. The guy was probably watching the house. Sis and her roommate went out for dinner at 6. When they returned at 8, they found the front window wide open. A TV, VCR, some CDs, some cash, and a few other minor things were taken, including some food out of the refrigerator.
The pothead across the street watched the entire thing happen. He wrote down the license plate number and a description of the van and the burglar, but did not call 911. He was smoking at the time and did not want the cops in his house when it smelled like pot. But he did call my sister and give her the info. She told the cops.
They didn’t do anything about it. My sister’s roommate’s dad got angry when they never heard back about it, and called up about six months after the fact. Their attitude was that they had better things to do than to follow up on a burglary.
Now, that might be understandable in a big city with an overworked police force. But this is a Midwestern college town of 25,000, where burglary is one of the most major crimes they get. They have plenty of guys out there cracking down on public intoxication and serving alcohol to minors. They run big sting operations to yank liquor licenses from local bars. But they don’t bother to follow up on real crime. Completely ridiculous.
House broken into, all jewelry stolen, canary strangled at age 11. We moved the following year and Lilbro asked Mom “is it because we got robbed?”
Several attempts at rape and other forms of sexual abuse, including one at “kidnapping for rape”; first one took place when I was 10. Culprits include my maternal grandfather, my host family in Ireland and their neighbor from across the street (a freaking cop, I was 15), a teacher from school, several random people off the street.
One rape, one attempted rape, several “domestic situations” that involve assault and battery, one that involved my first husband threatening to kill me (in front of a cop), theft, etc. It’s really too much to go into, and like Kal, I’d probably forget some of them.
