Tuesday 8 September 2009

Manchester Blackberry Disaster 2009

I spent most of today in Manchester looking at canals and road signs with very nice Japanese people. We had been looking at roads and bridges, ports and street furniture, all the stuff that a man in his mid thirties normally does for money on a Monday. Then this evening I was walking along Princess Street (which doesn’t exist – so I am lead to believe) to get some money from a cash machine, and I was as per usual, on my phone, talking to someone and idly passing the early evening away, not really paying attention to anything that was going on around me.

Suddenly a deft hand grabbed at the phone and snatched it out of my unsuspecting hand. It took a moment to register what had occurred. I'd been looking at my phone and then suddenly I was looking at my hand and my glasses which had been thrown to the ground in the struggle. Though to an alien race the human hand might be the more impressive gadget, to me my own human hand was a lot less interesting than a tiny machine that could take photos of my kids and keep me up to date with emails and texts from across the globe. Or even from my wife, whose number I do not know off by heart (sorry).

I looked up and saw that a man on a bicycle was quickly cycling away with my phone, the very phone that I had dropped countless time and that did not ring properly. But the same battered phone that had lots of photos of my kids on it and also countless other important things such as photos of canals and emails from work. .

Could he not have ripped out my heart and stolen that instead? It would have caused me less pain and consternation.

I suppose I reacted within a second though it felt like it took an age for any emotional or physical response. I was surprised and disgusted, I felt despondent and foolish. Most of all though I was aware that I was watching my phone disappear into the distance.

I made a vain attempt to chase after the perpetrator. But he was on a bike and had a head start and I was on foot and haven't been going to the gym. At all. To be fair I don't think I would have been fleet of foot enough to catch him had I been twenty years younger and being trained by Olympians.

I gave it a go though, my heart already bereft, my brain already cursing me for being so foolish. But it was early evening and there were loads of people around on their phones, talking drivel to their friends and even though I am aware that such things happen, it was unlikely that I could have anticipated it. I take very good care of my phone, almost to a paranoid degree and in fact never bother with insurance as I am so convinced of my own obsessive desire to protect it. But aside from always holding on to it with a iron grip and attaching it with unbreakable wire to my wrist (which would probably have caused me to lose a hand today) there is not much you can do to stop someone coming up from behind with speed and dexterity and just grabbing the thing from you.

I wasn't thinking about trying to get a description of the man and even if I had been I doubt I could come up with much. I had only really seen him once he'd gone past. I knew that he was on a black bike, dressed in black with a black hooded top. I didn’t notice the colour of his skin, and the racist me probably thought he was black, but in reality there was no way to know as I never saw his face or even the colour of his socks.

Anyway I was too shocked and too angry and already too deeply in mourning to try and get all Crimewatch on this. In any case my heavy heart knew that there was no way that I would be getting that phone back. All was lost. My phone was disappearing out of sight. If I believed in God I would have made a contract with him there and then that if he could strike down this robber and give me my phone back, I in turn would give Him my next child as recompense. How could he do this to me?
The bike was accelerating away and I was scratching around on the pavement; like Millhouse in the Simpsons; trying to pick up my glasses which were knocked off in the tussle. I wanted to cry “Stop him. Knock him off his bike! Stop that guy!" But all I heard were a few people comment that I the biked man had stolen my phone and no one would give me eye contact.

I ran for a few steps and then easily gave up, as the biked man cycled away and turned right up Clarence Street, and into the distance. His audacious and dastardly act had been a total success.
I felt sick, but had resigned myself to never seeing that phone again and decided to back to the hotel and try and ring the office to report the phone stolen. But it was 6.30pm and everyone in the office would be at home, or at the gym, so I just walked around for fifteen minutes and tried to piece together the last few minutes in my head. Whilst I may live in the heart of the country, I am not unaware of my surroundings, and actually this evening noticed the inordinate number of people haplessly wandering around the street texting on their phones. “Crazy fools” I thought as I walked down the street fully aware of my phone and talking to a friend at work.

I got back to the hotel and borrowed an identical looking phone from my work colleague and then headed out to make a few calls. The surprising thing was that after I got over the fact I had just been robbed in broad daylight by the ‘masked bike thief of old Princess Street (doesn’t exist by the way)’ the next emotion was one of being completely cut off from the outside world. I considered using a public phone for a second to phone home or the office, but quickly came to the conclusion that I didn’t have any cash and that I don’t know any numbers because they are all stored in the memory of my phone, not the memory of my brain. Damn you bike thief.

After phoning work and home, I decided to phone Greater Manchester Police and report the phone stolen. After being passed through a switchboard or two, a policeman took over the situation and asked me many questions about the incident. The policeman who had taken my initial details told me that that the crime would be followed up and CCTV footage would be checked and I'd get a call in a couple of days. Except I couldn't because I didn't have a phone and don't know my home phone number as I never use it. So I guess they'll email me.

I was also told that I would need to visit a local station and speak to an officer who would deal with the complaint. I have a feeling that this is a common crime in this part of the City, and they seemed to talk about it as if they were trying to do something to stop it.

Within minutes I had received another call to my new phone. It was a police woman asking for me. She explained that I didn’t have to go to the local station, and that I didn’t need to be inconvenienced by going to the local police station and that I would receive a call over the next few hours from an officer who would carry out a phone interview and issue me a Crime Number. This didn’t happen.

Later in the evening I saw the biked man again. I knew that this was a possibility, but I was really surprised by the fact that he cycled up to me with so much confidence. Although he was camouflaged and wore his hooded top down, had his trousers rolled up to his knees and was cycling slowly talking very loudly to himself in order to bring attention to himself. I looked at him a few times and even slightly doubted the few things I had thought I'd seen about him. I had only really seen him from the back. All I knew for sure was that I recognised the white stitching of his hooded top, with that being my only piece of definite information.

I couldn't say how tall he was, whether he was light or dark skinned, what his bike was like or even how old he was. Was he stocky or slim or athletic? I didn't know. All I knew was that he had my phone. Plus the little boy inside me was a bit excited by seeing him again. Although I felt humiliated to be defeated by this crafty stranger, I was already consoling myself with the fact that despite the inconvenience and the slight fear he might look through the contents of my phone and find my home phone number and ring him me up and tell me he had my phone. But was he really a fucking idiot (actually that would make it all worthwhile).

I feel the slightest amount of admiration for the man who has done this. It had been a skilful (!?) and risky manoeuvre. He plucked the phone from my grip like a bird diving into the sea, catching a fish and thumping me in the cheek. And there was the danger that he could have mistimed it or I could have held on too tight or managed to grab him or catch him or that someone might have sent him smashing to the ground.

If I looked at it objectively it would be hard to sympathise entirely with the ostentatious man parading around with his expensive gadget and not at least empathise with the dispossessed individual who likes a modern day Artful Dodger relieved him of some of the unfairly distributed wealth that he was displaying.

I have to admit that I was also wishing that I had caught him and pulled him off his bike, or that someone had invented an application for the phone in which you could cause it to explode by remote control, severely injuring the thief (and I now know that if you're on mobile me you can track the phone and remotely wipe its data, but that isn't enough, I wanted him to hurt). I replayed the scenario where I got the better of my nemesis and where I humiliated him the way that he had humiliated me.

So I am torn between woolly liberalism and Daily Mail style vindictiveness. I am fully aware that stealing is wrong, try telling this to the millions of illegal music downloading that goes on every single day. Whilst I understand this, I bet the Artic Monkeys never got hit in the cheek by the last 13 year old that illegally downloaded there new album and then rode off into the dark laughing. Who are the real thieves in this so called society? So maybe this is all just karma.

It had been an exciting and upsetting day. I am ultimately sad and a bit shaken by it all. It made me nervous and suspicious for the rest of the day. It's a shitty thing to do to someone, even though in my case I can cope with the loss. It's no excuse for people behaving in this way and it's horrible that it changed my view of the world, like an evil version of art.

Good news about the Bee Gees reforming though.

No comments:

Post a Comment