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Yay December! Criminals Suck!

By Grace

Last night after work, Squid, Dirty Hippie, and I went to a little place near the office for a glass of wine. We go to this place fairly frequently, and are on a first name basis with the bartender. The usual patrons of the bar are either lawyers or judges who work in the nearby courthouse, or well-dressed theatre patrons on their way to see Wicked, or a Christmas Carol. In other words, a fairly upscale crowd. So, last night, we went in and sat down at the bar. Hippie was on the right, Squid was in the middle, and I was on the left. Next to me were two empty seats.

After a few minutes, a young-ish couple walked into the bar. They were neither dressed like lawyers, or theatre-goers, but I didn't really notice that at the time. They ordered waters, and asked to see the wine list. The bartender brought them water and the wine list.

They didn't drink their water. They didn't order wine. Instead, they walked out. With my wallet. FUCKERS.

I really fucking hate criminals. I really really do. I had six dollars in that fucking wallet. That's not even enough to buy the teeniest bit of crack, even if you throw a blowjob or a stolen cellphone into the mix. (I don't know this from personal experience. I practice criminal law.) So, I can't even imagine how it was worth it to them.

More than I hate criminals, I really hate feel victimized. I mean, I know that it's just a wallet, it's just six dollars. Replacing the contents of the wallet is a huge pain in the ass, and seriously, I had gotten used to flashing some very attractive photo id's that now I have to go and retake. That's really the extent of it.

I feel awful. Last night, a couple of criminals saw me and my friends. They saw me dressed in a suit. They saw me smiling and laughing, and enjoying a glass of wine. They saw me, with my guard down, which it hardly ever is anymore, not worrying about my jacket hanging over the back of my barstool. And they looked at what they thought I had. And they felt entitled to take it from me.

It's not like I was hurt. It's not like I was robbed at gunpoint. It's not like I have anything really worth stealing, and even so, it's just money. My friends certainly had enough to cover the bill, and they lovingly and sympathetically gave me a little cash so I could get home.

It's a very helpless feeling, though, being a crime victim, even for an incredibly minor crime such as this. It's the second time in three years that I've been one. I'm not going to talk about the first time which was...more serious, but I will say that it's interesting how no matter the severity of a crime, how it affects the psyche is awfully similar. It's embarrasing. You replay it over and over again. You blame yourself. Fuck! I should have known better... I shouldn't have hung my jacket on the back of my chair. I should have had my wallet in my purse. What was I doing out on a Monday anyway? This is my fault. Why me? And on. And on. And on. And. Fucking. On.

I don't know. Maybe this will make me a better lawyer. Maybe I will become a better advocate for crime victims...yeah...

Except I'm pretty sure after spending the day at the DMV replacing my fucking driver's license, I will be one vindictive bitch. Fuck it. I hope they took my wallet with my six dollars, ran out of the bar and got hit by a truck.

Full post as published by Law with Grace on December 02, 2008 (boomark / email).