October 01, 2007

Pickpocket Penis

I would like to once again thrill you with tales of the greatest form of public transport ever invented.... where one and all rub shoulders, step on toes, smell from armpits and steal from one another. Or try to anyway.

Picture this: it’s Wednesday evening, around 9pm and I’m alone. I’m changing platforms at Sevres-Babylon, from line 12 to line 10. As I walk down a short flight of stairs to my new platform, I look left at a sign board and am aware of another body using the stairs behind me. I obviously don’t pay further attention, but when a few seconds later something brushes the inside of my left elbow (the arm clutching my bag), without thinking or having time to process anything I whip around yelling. My small makeup purse drops to the floor at my feet and rolls down a few stairs. The young man behind me points at it and says:
“Your bag fell.”
And I’m off, at the top of my voice I screech:
“Like hell it fell, you touched me, I felt it. What else do you have in your hands?! You had your hand in my bag!”
He denies it, but very weakly. I stomp off onto the platform and he climbs the stairs back up. As I had decided to use the button to call the station manager, I needed to get a better look at the guy’s clothing. I go down on my haunches to see him at the top of the stairs and memorize what he’s wearing. When he sees me, the bad-ass pickpocket punk throws me a
and without further ado, pulls his jeans down to reveal his willy. It bounces out and dangles there for a moment, then he pulls his pants back up and turns away.

On what planet would such a small, sad little thing that bobs out of the top of someone's trousers frighten me? I described him to the station manager and took my onward train. I hope they chucked that sad-ass out of the station, although what difference would it make in his life, really? Next time, he should be more careful about elbows - then he won’t have to display pee-pees.

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