The mugging post

There's not actually much of a story, and I'm feeling disinclined to dwell on it though I'm sure this'll wind up a longer post than I intend.

Was walking on Union around 10.30pm to meet elladorian, ravenface, toughlad at Brooklyn Social, while talking to ranai on the phone (who was also going to meet us). Had just said "See you in a minute" and hung up when some dude got in my way, coincidentally right in front of our building. In the traditional dumbfoundedness and disbelief of the moment, it took me a few seconds to entirely realize he had a 9mm semiautomatic in my face and was telling me to Run my shit. I thought it looked like a Baretta, though I blanked on the actual brand name. Two other dudes came up behind me and while repeating Don't turn around, Don't look at us, put me against a wall and went through all my jacket and pants pockets, occasionally questioning me on the significance of the things in my pocket they couldn't make out in the dim light in that stretch between streetlamps: this was my dice bag, that my hat, those were keys, those were some more keys. It felt like quite a bit of time was passing without pedestrians in any direction and I remember thinking, Is this stretch really this desolate? In the end, all my pockets had been emptied onto the sidewalk (my copy of The Big Year got a bit scuffed) and they split, having taken my phone and wallet, though they did not go through my bag, and left me with my work computer.

As they fled I turned and ran after them down Nevins street, and then down Sackett after they turned there. About halfway down Sackett, they stopped running and started either walking or dawdling I couldn't tell. I figured if their backs were no longer necessarily to me while I could see them, they could see me. They didn't appear to be looking in my direction or expecting pursuit, but the streets being otherwise empty in every direction I didn't love my chances if they did notice me. I backtracked to the corner of Nevins to put some distance between us and tried to flag down someone with a phone.

For a long time, no one came and I eventually lost track of my attackers. There's a police call box at the corner of Nevins and Sackett actually, but it doesn't work. I worried what everyone must have thought when I didn't show up to the bar, and briefly considered just continuing on my way. I doubled back to my block to knock on my landlord's door, but he was either out or dead asleep. Tried stopping a couple passerby, who actually declined to call 911 on my behalf for various reasons, stated or unstated. I tried to be clear that I wasn't asking strangers to let me use their phone, I just wanted someone to call 911 to have them send a police car to this intersection. A couple young hipster girls actually stopped to talk to me long enough to have a conversation to get the story of what happened from me, but then declined to call, actually chided me for it, on the grounds that "What are the police" - dismissive, self-righteous inflection - "going to do for you? The police can't do anything" and "If I were you I'd just try to get out of here as quickly as possible." Eventually a guy who looked like he was returning from the airport, wheeling large checked luggage, stopped and gave me his phone to use even though I had just asked him to call. Thanks, luggage guy. At this point, about fifteen minutes had passed since I'd been mugged.

The police came, and I gave a statement and we drove around for a while. We saw a group of three dudes in similar clothing by the Wyckoff Houses, and it was game on for a second. But I was ... pretty sure it wasn't them. One guy had had a distinctive jacket. We chatted about my old crazy-party-throwing neighbor for a while and then we went back to the station to talk to some detectives, where I gave a statement and looked at mug shots and enumerated the things lost. Everyone thought my phone model - a "Photon", by Motorola - had the craziest name they'd ever heard. I lost a lot of cash too ... roughly equivalent to half a month's rent. One of the detectives let me use his computer and phone to cancel my cards and put my bank accounts on hold. I had sensitive bank info on my phone that was encrypted, but I figured why take chances. Tweeted Maggie. Tried to change my Google pw, but the detective's machine was running IE6 (!) and Google account settings won't even open in browsers that old. The detectives got Sprint to track the phone to 106 Douglass, between Smith and Hoyt, and they started putting on vests and checking guns and gaming on. While they were doing that, I remotely installed a couple tracking apps on the phone that got me bupkis. Phone had been running out of charge when I lost it, and I'd manually turned GPS off to conserve energy. When the detectives were ready, two cars of cops and me rolled over there and ... nothing. There were no people visible, and you can't just go knocking on doors, because you don't know the significance of that trace. Like, those guys could have just been walking by 106 Douglass at the time. They drove me around for a while longer and dropped me off at home around 3am. Gchatted a couple of folks to let them know I was all right. Stayed up wired and awake for a couple hours reading greader, then fell asleep.

Today: worse news: inaugural meeting of book club cancelled! Other than that I'm kind of irritable and at loose ends. Yesterday I felt like I had so much to do this weekend, and now I feel like there's nothing, and the weekend feels over already. Gonna walk over to 106 Douglass in a minute in the hopes that maybe the dudes ditched my phone and wallet in a garbage can over there or something.