Anatomy of an Almost-Mugging

I was on my way back to Manhattan, hoping to stop over at DeKalb Avenue to meet my friend Ariel. I just came out of almost a two-hour journey on the R train all the way to 86th Street on the Bay Ridge area of Brooklyn for an open house of a home care nursing job that I was eyeing on. The open house was a hundred times shorter than my trip -- I spoke to the recruiter in less than 15 minutes about the job. I got out of there and phoned Ariel that I would meet him at his apartment before we head out to Manhattan together for dinner and some drinks. It was 12 stops from the 86th station and Ariel said it might take half an hour for me to get to his stop. It was 5:30 PM.

By the time I got back to the R, I was so exhausted. I think I had my gloomy face on from all the stress of coming over to this side of Brooklyn, one that is totally unchartered territory for me. At the same time, I was kind of disillusioned about the supposed career-saver for me, that it wasn't what I thought it would be. Although I had my iPod earphones on, my mind was wandering somewhere, occasionally stopping to read the fliers that the recruiter handed to me, including one that summarizes all the salary itemizations and benefits. I also had my iPhone out as I calculated my would-be salary if I got the job. The ride was uneventful. There were a good number of people, a mixed crowd, in the subway car I was in. I remembered a good number of them, too, got off at the 36th Street station, almost halfway from my destination.

And then it happened. I don't remember at what stop they got on, but a group of young thugs sat near me. There were 4 or 5 kids who probably just got out of school that day -- one Hispanic, the rest Black; one girl and the rest were boys. I didn't really pay close attention to them. I was trying to concentrate on the names of the stations at each stop, peering at the window, the iPhone still in my hands, just holding it, crossing my arms across my chest, almost hugging my messenger bag. Suddenly I got a strange iffy feeling when the girl sat next to me, so close that her backpack was almost at my face, but then she stood up again and left, sat at a seat behind me. I wasn't sure if that was some sort of "marking the prey" kind of ritual or she just thought that the seat was uncomfortable that she had to leave. I think it was at this moment when I placed my phone back in my bag pocket. At that point, the kid who sat in front of me, a Black kid in a blue hoodie and baggy jeans, started looking at my direction, then at me, in the face. I didn't pay attention to him and just looked away, at the window, just thinking to myself "Am I thinking what I'm thinking? Nahh....they're just kids. They won't do anything."

I convinced myself that it was just nothing. Maybe he's just looking at the window, too, just like I was. Or he was just appalled at the pimple sitting on my nose. I became self-conscious. And then tension started to rise. One of his friends, the Hispanic one in plain white shirt and jeans, sat next to me, so close that our thighs were touching. They kind of blocked my way (think of an L position and I was in between them) and this new kid had his hand on my thigh. I thought he just touched it by accident so I looked at him. He smiled and asked for the time. I glanced at my watch and told him it was 10 minutes to 6. I proceeded to pretend I was ignoring them, his hand now off my thigh, pretending that I was more into listening to my iPod, which was already inside my bag. I was telling my nerves to calm down, to take a deep breath as each second passed by, one seemed to be longer than the next. But I was getting scared. Big time.

The two of them started murmuring, whispering to each other, like they were trying to hatch a plan against me while I was there in front of them. I tried to listen but the volume of my mp3 device was relatively loud, but I didn't dare bring it out to adjust it. Another kid was in the seat across us, acting like a cheerleader sort of, while the first two kept on with their scheming. Then the kid in front of me proceeded to talk to me. I pretended to ignore him, letting him understand that I'm on my iPod and I couldn't hear him. He kept on talking, so I pulled my right earphone out and said, "I'm sorry?" He asked   what I was listening to. My iPod was on shuffle. At that time, it was R. Kelly. I don't even remember what the song was. I said, "R. Kelly," putting my earphone back on. I don't know but I was thankful that it was R. Kelly. The kid's facial expression was something of an approval. Imagine if I had said Britney or Mariah.  Or I could have lied and said Lil Wayne or T.I. but R. Kelly's perfect. Not pretentious and not so gay and, well, honest. Then he asked if he could take a listen. I smiled, or I think it was more of a smirk in the "Are you kidding?' kind of tone, and said, "No, dude." I don't know why I called him that. Dude. I have little knowledge of ghetto-speak and in as much as I understand some of it, I just don't think I have the swagger for it. I don't even think they expect me to. Somehow that was what I came up with. I think they would have laughed if I had said, "No, son."

I continued with my fake-listening, unaware of the songs now, my bag nestled deep in my chest, impatiently waiting for the next stop, preparing myself for the next pivotal moments of my life, or whatever's gonna be left of it. Finally, the moment has arrived after what seemed like forever -- the next train stop, which I didn't even care what it was. I just cared for a stop. Any train station so I could get out of there. I stood up, my hands around my bag and proceeded my way out of the L-shaped position I was in with the two kids in a casual fashion, not hurried and not slow, either. The Hispanic one to my left tried to block my feet with his leg, but I didn't trip. The other kid did nothing. As I was a few steps behind the door, another kid from behind (the cheerleader) tried to grab my bag. I seriously thought they would gang up on me any second now. I turned to him in an almost-but-not-quite scream, "What the hell, dude!"  I just realized that dudes are more for white people but whatever. I didn't know what else to say. Surprised that words even came out of my mouth. I secured the pocket where the iPhone was, relieved that it didn't fall from the tugging the kid had done. The door opened and I thought I would run and I did. The kid chased me and I stopped, scanning the surroundings if any other people were witnesses to the harassment I was getting. I just realized I was in the first two cars. No wonder I felt isolated from the rest of the passengers. A few looked in our direction. I didn't know if I should scream for help, but at the same time, I was too shy to scream. What would people think? That I'm such a chicken that I'm letting young kids play their games on me? That a 30-year old man could not handle himself being bullied by these young thugs? But they don't know I'm 30!

It was just one kid who came after me once I was outside the train station platform and then the other kid called him to get back in the train, which he did. It was then that I ran as fast I could, as fast as my feet could take me, mentally taking note that I did the treadmill that morning at the gym. I dashed to the turnstile, where an old woman was trying to get in, but I pushed her away, apologized, and headed to the steps. I met a Latino man, bigger than me, who also got off from the train and making his way to the same exit as I was. He smiled and shook his head, like he was aware of my recent plight. "Those kids," he said. I just nodded, half-wishing that he would take me in his arms and protect me. "I'm safe now with this man beside me," I said to myself.

The afternoon sunlight was a welcome addition to the darkness I was in as I alighted on the surface. Union Street. The stop was Union Street. I ran again as fast as I could, thinking what if the kids decided to get off the train after all and chase me again. I ran and I ran and as I did, I was disappointed with the area I was in. I didn't even know where I was.  All I know was I was on a highway. Only a few people were walking on the sidewalk, cars and other motor vehicles zooming past me, no taxicab in sight. There was no place to hide or a massive crowd I could drown myself into. It was an open space in broad daylight. I thought I was screwed.

I ran several more blocks, my throat getting terribly dry and parched, my breathing labored and painful. I kept looking back if the kids were behind me. I didn't see them. I took my phone out, called Ariel and told him what happened. There was no way I'm getting into the subway again at that time. I was determined to get a cab but it was just impossible. I continued to walk along 4th Avenue (later I learned), acted like I wasn't the guy who almost got mugged in the subway, trying to be more aware of my surroundings. I cringed when I saw a black teenage kid buying a pretzel from a street vendor. I calmed down. It wasn't one of them. I was getting paranoid.

I reached DeKalb and relieved to see my friend. We took the subway back to Manhattan, the Q train this time. I didn't want to take my chance on the R just yet. I recounted the incident several times that night. During the subway ride, at dinner, at G lounge where we had cocktails. I felt like I had to drink just to relieve myself of the memory. But it kept surfacing and surfacing. It seemed like there was no forgetting it.

I could not, for the life of me, figure out why it happened. A few hours earlier, I was just reading about hate crimes and bullying and I didn't think I would be a victim of one. Was it my bothered and bewildered face? That I looked troubled and vulnerable and weak? That somehow they knew I was not from the hood, a visitor? That they had their gaydars on and I was the perfect candidate to bully a gay person? Or is it because I was Asian and skinny and I wasn't capable of causing them harm? Or was it the sight of my tech gadgets that lured them to me?

What bothered me was that they were kids!  I have seen in movies like Stomp The Yard, Step Up 2 (The Streets), Save The Last Dance, Honey, wherein a group of young thugs get into crimes and stuff and then turn out to be really amazing dancers. Can those kids who bully me know how to dance? I mean these kids in the movies are for real. Wow!

I've been living in New York City for the last three years and have never encountered an incident like this in the subway. I have always been a cautious traveler. If I find somebody suspicious, I get off at the next stop or transfer to another subway car. At late night, I don't take out my iPhone or my iPod.  That afternoon, I just wasn't expecting that my predators would be these hoodie-and-baggy-jeans-wearing fresh-from-school youths, who didn't look like they could do what they just did. I am probably twice their age, for God's sakes. I can never trust teenage kids ever again.

Looking back, I just realized what if they had a gun or some other weapon. I could probably be dead by now. I'm just thankful that I got out of there alive. That I'm safe and I wasn't physically hurt. That my possessions are still with me. I'm just thankful. Really, I am.