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Truly horrible experience for anyone; hope you're okay.
Mine was walking home from work through Mile End; I (in retrospect, very stupidly) took a shortcut through the corner of the park. It was near-dark at the time, but I was never more than 20 feet or so from the main road so didn't think anything of it.
How I didn't actually notice the six guys surrounding me; I've no idea. But the first sign I had of their presence was a fist smashing into my face. Followed by a few more which knocked me to the ground, where I was kicked to and fro for a minute or so, while someone tried to get my bag off my back. Lots of shouting: "What's in the fucking bag?" "Exam papers, you fuck!", and so on. At one point one of them did manage to get my mobile out of my pocket which, as I'm quite proud of, I did manage to snatch back.
By this point I was shouting in, I'd imagine, a kind've crazy fashion and had gotten to my feet. As was pointed out, muggers are basically opportunists, so they ran off, leaving me ranting like a crazy person how "you could at least find my fucking glasses for me, you absolute fuckers, I hope you get hit by cars, you fucks... etc. etc." One of them, the youngest, runs back toward me. He starts shouting in a threatening manner asking if I know who he is and how I really shouldn't be threatening him or he'll "get" me. I reply that I do know him now. He realises that I can clearly see his face, brings his hands up to cover it, and runs after his mates.
All in all, not a fun way to come home. What really enraged me however, was realising my surroundings aferward. I stepped out of the park and called my flatmate to come around with a torch to help me find my glasses. Right by the entrance to the park, beside where I was having this conversation, and not 20 feet from where I was mugged, are two men at the bus stop. Of course neither intervened as I was being beaten, but, on top of that, neither asked how I was now, or offered to help me. I stood there for about 10 minutes, in a blood soaked shirt and tie, wiping my face to keep blood from my eyes and they stood right there by me until the number 8 came for them to hop onto.
One eye was swollen shut for a few days, the ridge of my nose acquired a new lumpy feel, and I couldn't eat anything chewy as my teeth would graze the bruises inside my cheeks for a week or two after that.
What I found the most disturbing about it was my changed attitude toward strangers. A feeling of suspicion at every passing stranger wearing a hoody. Also a tendency toward promoting violence where I could just as easily walk away. It was followed by several instances of my friends persuading me to walk away from someone giving us a hard time in a pub or on the street. They were suitably unimpressed with my seeking to enter some imaginary fray.
It wore off eventually, but it was a horrible change in perception for that period of time. |
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