Mugged and Pepper Sprayed in Downtown Oakland
What I write here is true and happened to me last night (April 8th, 2013) at about 11:45pm while I was waiting for the 72M at the 20th-and-Broadway stop in Oakland, CA.
I had just gotten off the train the 19th St BART station around 11:30pm, having come from Noisebridge. It takes me an hour to get home no matter how I slice it, and at this late s, the bus lines going to my neighborhood are extremely sparse. I knew, intellectually, that downtown Oakland is not a good place to be alone and carrying computer gear. But I had used this bus stop many times without incident, so I felt safe. The lights are bright here.
I walked over to the bus stop and took a look at the wait times. 18 minutes for the 72M, one of two buses I could take at this hour. I cursed Google Maps for being inaccurate yet again (it told me there was a bus coming in 5 minutes) and sat down.
In a move that would prove to be incredibly stupid, I decided to take my iPad out of my backpack to transfer to my purse so that it would be more accessible when I got on the bus. Some notifications had cropped up, so I decided to open the iPad to take a look at them, and wound up sucked in reading some article or another.
I looked up to see a police car driving down the street right in front of me. I remembered feeling safe.
I had headphones on, though I wasn’t listening to anything. I mention this because details like this probably contribute to a perception of vulnerability.
I was checking the arrival board frequently last night, and noted that the next 72M would arrive in 5 minutes.
What happened next occurred in the span of perhaps 10 seconds.
I was leaning over looking at something on the iPad. All-at-once, I heard footsteps and felt and saw a pair of hands grab the iPad that was in my hands. I looked up to see a dark-skinned male in a dark hoodie, whose face I didn’t get a clean look at, with his hands pulling at my iPad.
Thoughts in as much of a sequence as consciousness allows:
- Hey, what, is this guy crazy? Why is he grabbing my stuff?
- Oh, I get it, I’m being mugged.
I kicked the dude in the chest, hard enough to knock him back, but not as hard as I would have wanted. These were my instincts; reasoning didn’t kick in until afterwards.
Immediately, an accomplice — a teenage black female — joined him on his right side and added her hands to the fray. Four hands against my two managed to wrench the iPad away, and they ran off with it towards Telegraph.
Before any cohesive thoughts cropped up at all, so perhaps in the span of half a second, a third accomplice — a heavyset black female wearing jeans and a black T-shirt — stepped directly in front of me. I got a flash of a red metallic design on her shirt as her arm raised towards me. I heard three or four “spray” sounds and then her footsteps away, presumably to join the first two.
- What just happened?! …Why didn’t they take my purse and backpack?
- Something in my eyes.
Then, fiery hot pain.
The pain grew and spread. Tears emerged and sinuses swelled. I started making noises to mitigate the pain.
Something gave me the presence of mind to grab my backpack and purse. I stood up and started pacing.
I screamed. I screamed in anger. I screamed in fear. I screamed for “HELP!!!!”
I’m a trained singer; I get very good volume. No doubt my scream was heard all down the block.
A few people were around, but I was alone on this part of the street. A taxi slowed down in front of me as I screamed. I glared (as much as one can glare with capsaicin in one’s eyes) and considered getting in.
A woman who had just emerged from the nearby subway station cautiously crossed the street and observed.
I was standing just off the sidewalk, screaming into the night, hyperventilating, completely unable to make eye contact.
What’s more, I couldn’t sit down. My nervous system all jacked up, I felt like I needed to keep pacing.
“I need help!!!”
A bus pulled up, the 18. It slid into position at its scheduled stop, hovered for 10 seconds, and then took off.
A woman in an interesting hat covered in medals emerged and said, “did those three kids just spray you!? I saw them walk up and then run away, I wondered what on earth would make them run like that.”
Me: “They grabbed my iPad and then sprayed me at point blank!”
The woman from the subway, blonde and posh, called an emergency number. I overheard her saying, “yeah this woman was just mugged… over on, umm, I think 14th?”
“And they sprayed her with pepper spray.”
Me: “In the eyes!! At point blank!!”
At that point the 72M pulled up, right on time. All of the above had happened in 5 minutes.
Me (sardonic): “Oh, now there’s my bus.”
The driver of the 72M opened the door, looked at me. I tried to look at him back, but it didn’t work too well with a chemical impediment. He clearly wanted to do something to help, to his credit, and I was clearly considering getting on the bus. But the people around me were entreating me to stay until the police got there. So the bus drove off.
An older black man with very weak control over his articulation walked up to me, saying words I couldn’t make out. I shouted at him, “I just got mugged and maced!!”
(Dear pedants: I don’t care that pepper spray and mace are two separate things. I used them interchangeably. Go get pepper-sprayed and then see how well your brain works.)
The guy said, “I just came to help, I just… <unintelligible>…”
Me: “I’m sorry, I just got maced, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…” He wandered off.
A taxi driver came over to me with a bottle of water. He advised me to pour it over my eyes. I did, gratefully, but then wished I hadn’t. The burning sensations all reignited, and I felt more areas of my face and neck light up in hot pain.
Meanwhile, the woman helping me saw a police car drive by. She decided to give the emergency dispatch another ring to check in. They asked if she was reporting a new incident. “No, I’m just calling to check because no one has come yet. This woman was attacked and needs medical attention.”
Me: “And I can’t breathe!!” My airways were continuing to inflame and fill with mucous.
Feelings of desperation.
At T+8 minutes, a fire engine arrived on the scene carrying a handful of EMTs. They looked concerned but didn’t feel they could help much, apart from pouring saline water on my eyes, which seemed to help and soothe. However, the voluminous mucous and wild inflammation in my sinuses combined with having water poured over my breathing apparatus felt, well, torturous. I had to take it slow.
They asked if I wanted to be taken to a hospital.
Me: “You mean do I want to sit in an emergency room for 2 hours? No. I’d rather go home.”
Just then, a police car arrived. I read their nametags but only remembered officer Beltran, an impeccably groomed Latina who talked about how getting pepper sprayed was part of the OPD training. “I’d rather be punched in the face,” she emphasized. “So I know.”
Beltran took my report and wrote it down on the form. I later got the chance to read it in full. She left out the part about my kicking the guy in the chest, replacing it with “there was a struggle.”
Meanwhile, a third officer asked, “Do you have Find my Phone installed on the device?”
Me: “Yeah. I do.”
I wrote my password down for them (mental note: change password ASAP). Within a minute, the officer had a location for the iPad and they were tracking it down. Apparently they had gotten as far as 14th street (6 city blocks away).
At that point, the OPD and the Fire Dept EMTs completed a hand off so that the fire engine could leave the scene. I was in the cops’ hands now.
The police officers asked if I would be willing to come along in the car and look at the suspects they’d apprehended to see if they were the muggers who attacked me. “Yeah. Let’s do it.”
At that point I realized the pepper spray had mostly cleared my eyes, though I was still shaking and hyperventilating, and breaking into tears every 3-4 minutes. My eyelids were also inflamed, and bright light sources (like emergency lights) made me wince.
“Ever been in the back of a cop car before?” I said I hadn’t, which was true.
The woman who helped me gave me her card and said she’d be standing by, but that she was going home. She also mentioned that she had slipped some tissues into my jacket pocket. I gave her a hug and a very Canadian “so sorry, thanks so much”, and then I got into the cop car.
The officer along with Beltran, whose name I don’t remember, seemed more senior by how he interacted with the others, and he had a downright cheerful disposition about the whole thing. I figured it must be fun to be able to apprehend suspects within a few minutes of an incident. Nice and neat.
Roughly 20 minutes had elapsed since the mugging when we pulled up in front of the apprehended suspects, held there by 4 officers. They had separated the two they’d caught (out of three, just to be clear), and the senior officer said they’d found a guy in a hoodie and a female.
“Now remember, these people may or may not be the ones who mugged you. And don’t worry, they won’t be able to see you.”
I know that memory is a slippery concept, and that wanting to positively (or negatively) ID a suspect greatly influences what you “remember” about something. I tried to be objective as they got the male to stand up in front of the light.
There was a tallish, black male with a long thin nose and a mustache and beard wearing a dark grey hoodie. I didn’t remember there being facial hair. I had him turn to the side, but it didn’t help — I wasn’t sure, and I said as much. “Sorry, I can’t be sure.”
“That’s OK! Alright. Now we’re going to move up the block and have you look at the second suspect.”
I saw the female suspect struggling with the officers who were holding her. She was trying to hide her face from the light, and sported a huge nervous grin.
Her body shape gave her away immediately, but I couldn’t help but feel like her behaviors were influencing my “memory”. I never saw this person’s face, I only got a glimpse at her midsection as she maced me.
But there, quite plainly, was the red metallic design that flashed just before the burning sensations began.
“Yep! That’s the one who sprayed me in the face. I can tell by her body shape and that T-shirt.” Officer Beltran wrote this down and communicated my ID to the attendant team. The senior officer told them to take her in and let the first guy go.
The senior officer bounded over to me.
“Well, we recovered an iPad that responded to the tracking beacon. We have it now. Did you have a wallpaper on the device that you can describe?” I described it to him. A few seconds later, there was the iPad — out of its protective case and bearing its first ever crack in the screen.
Feelings of revulsion.
“You don’t need to hold it for evidence, or fingerprint it or anything?”
The policeman laughed. “No, this isn’t like the shows you see on TV.”
I then watched and overheard the police banter as the senior officer explained to the more junior officers that he’d probably be able to “get” the other two suspects by playing testimonies off each other. They had to let the guy go because I didn’t positively ID him, but they would pay him a visit later.
Hearing all of this, I felt less like I had any control over these kids’ fate, and more like a hapless wanderer dipping my toes into a foreign stream.
The rest is fairly mundane. I had to sign my report in about half a dozen places (they make you initial any mistakes or even weird pen marks they accidentally made), and then they drove me home.
Arrival time at home: 1 AM.
Who says there’s nothing to do in downtown Oakland.
At this point, 24 hours post-incident, I’ve spent the better part of my day washing pepper spray out of my skin and hair — this stuff is ridiculously tenacious — and taking naps. My eyes still sting.
I’m feeling traumatized but incredibly grateful that it was spray and not a bullet.
And I still have mixed feelings about getting my iPad back. That’s emotional investigation for another day.