THE DAY I DIDN’T GET MY POCKET PICKED

The train pulled into the crowded station of the Brussels Metro and squealed to a halt. Every car was filled with passengers, standing like sardines, and it seemed unlikely that another body could be stuffed into any one of them. Nonetheless, as hisses of compressed air opened the doors of the crowded cars and only a few riders squeezed through the exits, the crowd surrounding us on the platform surged forward, propelling us toward the open door.

Suddenly, as I was moving into the clutch of passengers, I felt unfamiliar fingers exploring my left buttock. The sensation lasted only a moment but, coupled with the jostling I was receiving from a passenger somewhere in front of me, it was enough to confuse and disorient me slightly.

Then, a moment later, I felt the same hand entering the left front pocket of my trousers. Fortunately, a reflex caused me to follow it into the pocket. As quickly as it had entered, the hand vanished.

Moments later, the train started to move out of the station. I looked around me, now aware that someone had attempted to pick my pocket. Three men were standing near me, each within easy reach. When I attempted to make eye contact with them, each looked back at me without emotion or recognition. One or two of these men were the thieves, but I had only a vague idea which ones, and they provided no clues to their identities.

As the train rushed through the dark tunnel leading to our next stop, I considered my options. Should I accuse one of them of this attempted violation? Though I had a fairly good idea of whose fingers had explored my pockets, I was far from certain. Were I to confront any of my three suspects, each could have convincingly denied the act, and I would certainly have risked an altercation. If there had been police in the vicinity—and we saw none in any Metro station on any of our many journeys—how could they have helped? And even if the police became involved, what would I gain? At best, a nightmare of forms and interviews in a police station; at worst, a broken nose.

As it turned out, my suspicions were partly confirmed when two of the three got off at the next stop and, within seconds, disappeared into the crowd, The incident ended as quickly and as unnoticeably (to all but me) as it had begun; my attackers and I were equally unscathed. Jan and I were free to continue our journey; the thieves were free to attack another unsuspecting victim.

I imagine that every boy’s mother has given her sons the advice that my mother gave me whenever we were together in a public place: “Keep your wallet in a front pocket.” With my new appreciation for the skills of these predators, I’m glad that I listened to mine.

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