Until literally 10 minutes ago, I had never had any serious experience with anyone trying to steal my things. London is a city, so clearly there will be thieves and pickpockets like there are in any other city. I’m currently sitting in a Starbucks, working on a paper–one of many students doing so across the city, I’m absolutely sure. Seated by the loo, a man and a little boy come in to use the toilet. After they’ve both done their business, the little boy shoves a small tube map in my face and asks “how do I get here?”
I attempt to pull the map away from my face but he shoves it closer and closer to my eyes as his grown-up’s hand inches towards my iphone sitting not two inches from me on the table. Luckily for me, a Starbucks employee comes by at that moment and says sharply “HEY! what are you doing? Get out!” They left, without my iPhone and I obviously thanked her profusely. And yes, Mom, my iPhone is now safely in the back pocket of my jeans (while I’m seated, obviously it won’t stay there)
Am I rattled that this happened? Yes. Have my friends told me not to put my phone on the table? Yes (granted, they specified OUTSIDE, but still.) Am I glad that I’m intelligent enough to keep my bag (with my wallet) between my chair and the wall? Yes.
But what bothers me more is the fact that this man is using a child, who is impressionable and looking to adults for guidance as an accomplice to his crimes. It makes you wonder if this pseduo-Fagan character has a whole host of children in a loft somewhere, teaching them how to steal and cheat, presenting them with no other option than to become the dregs of society. It’s disheartening, frankly.
But I have outlines that need writing, papers that need planning, and no time to over-ponder this. Which is perhaps part of the problem in of itself . .