Remember when you were 16 and had your driver's permit and you stole your mom's car and decided to go 65 mph on a residential street and you crashed into a mailbox or a stop sign or some equally annoying object that totally ruined your teenage angst-fueled road to freedom (or insert some alternatively idiotic, albeit thrilling, mistake you made in your teens)? Well, the feeling you had just prior to bending that bumper was likely this: indestructible.
The situation I allowed to happen to me last Saturday night is a testament to the fact that I have not yet shed my teenage feelings of indestructibility. I got mugged. While bad things eventually happen to the best of us, I'm going to take a small sliver of responsibility for what happened.
A friend and I had just left a late-night bar in Lincoln Park. We live in opposite directions, so she got in a cab and told me to get in a cab, too, but I proceeded to walk up Lincoln Avenue alone. I got about a block and a half before the mugger snatched my purse and took off.
You know that episode of "Sex & the City" when Carrie is robbed at gunpoint and hands over her Manolo Blahniks? Well, this was like that except replace SoHo with Lincoln Park, replace middle of the day with 3:30 in the morning, and replace Carrie's helpless, shoeless situation with my strikingly impressive ability to sprint after my mugger down Lincoln Avenue in 5-inch wedges. What? I work out.
While running after the perp, I somehow enlisted a cabdriver and his two passengers (amazing people to whom I owe many thanks and probably cab fare) to peel out and do a 180 to chase after him too.
Unfortunately, they followed him down a dead-end street, leading to my mugger's escape.
The guy who did this really sucks, but what sucks worse is I could have avoided it. I could have waited outside the bar for a cab. I could have gone without a tequila shot or two. I could have worn a fanny pack.
I have a bad habit of pulling stunts like this, largely based on the fact I live in the yuppie capital of the world. I've walked home alone before. I've shared a cab with a stranger. I've made friends with random people at bars and then lost all my friends I was there with in the first place. And my friends are on my case about it. I've heard a lot of "you can't do that" and "what is wrong with you?" from them this summer. But how many of you can say you've never done any of those things?
As adults, most of us would likely say we've outgrown the indestructible phase and have developed into mature, responsible human beings who brush our teeth twice a day and do our laundry in separate loads. That's all our mothers ever wanted, right? But when it's approaching twilight and you have your beer muscles to protect you, you're probably pulling some crap that Mom would not condone.
Most of the time, nothing bad happens. And that's the problem. Nothing bad happens until it does, and where does that leave you? On a sidewalk with the cops, crying over your favorite lipstick.
Next time you feel that indestructible feeling coming on, remind yourself that bad things can happen in any neighborhood, no matter the number of Starbucks per capita. And remember, people are not afraid to steal your things and use your credit cards at Taco Burrito King (thanks bro, for only getting $8.00 worth of tacos). I just hope that taco sauce isn't anywhere near my Corso Como clutch.
The situation I allowed to happen to me last Saturday night is a testament to the fact that I have not yet shed my teenage feelings of indestructibility. I got mugged. While bad things eventually happen to the best of us, I'm going to take a small sliver of responsibility for what happened.
A friend and I had just left a late-night bar in Lincoln Park. We live in opposite directions, so she got in a cab and told me to get in a cab, too, but I proceeded to walk up Lincoln Avenue alone. I got about a block and a half before the mugger snatched my purse and took off.
You know that episode of "Sex & the City" when Carrie is robbed at gunpoint and hands over her Manolo Blahniks? Well, this was like that except replace SoHo with Lincoln Park, replace middle of the day with 3:30 in the morning, and replace Carrie's helpless, shoeless situation with my strikingly impressive ability to sprint after my mugger down Lincoln Avenue in 5-inch wedges. What? I work out.
While running after the perp, I somehow enlisted a cabdriver and his two passengers (amazing people to whom I owe many thanks and probably cab fare) to peel out and do a 180 to chase after him too.
Unfortunately, they followed him down a dead-end street, leading to my mugger's escape.
The guy who did this really sucks, but what sucks worse is I could have avoided it. I could have waited outside the bar for a cab. I could have gone without a tequila shot or two. I could have worn a fanny pack.
I have a bad habit of pulling stunts like this, largely based on the fact I live in the yuppie capital of the world. I've walked home alone before. I've shared a cab with a stranger. I've made friends with random people at bars and then lost all my friends I was there with in the first place. And my friends are on my case about it. I've heard a lot of "you can't do that" and "what is wrong with you?" from them this summer. But how many of you can say you've never done any of those things?
As adults, most of us would likely say we've outgrown the indestructible phase and have developed into mature, responsible human beings who brush our teeth twice a day and do our laundry in separate loads. That's all our mothers ever wanted, right? But when it's approaching twilight and you have your beer muscles to protect you, you're probably pulling some crap that Mom would not condone.
Most of the time, nothing bad happens. And that's the problem. Nothing bad happens until it does, and where does that leave you? On a sidewalk with the cops, crying over your favorite lipstick.
Next time you feel that indestructible feeling coming on, remind yourself that bad things can happen in any neighborhood, no matter the number of Starbucks per capita. And remember, people are not afraid to steal your things and use your credit cards at Taco Burrito King (thanks bro, for only getting $8.00 worth of tacos). I just hope that taco sauce isn't anywhere near my Corso Como clutch.