Last night, on the way home from getting tested, I got mugged. Just writing down that phrase gives me the creeps. I can’t believe this happened to me.

It wasn’t at all violent, and it happened pretty quickly. I was in a part of Jersey City I hadn’t been in before. I’d been at the clinic, getting tested, but before that, I wound up spending about an hour talking with the woman giving me the test. After talking with her, I feel so much more confident that I’m perfectly healthy, and I also feel so much better informed. I described my behavior, and she seemed to think I was probably fine, so that was very reassuring. I’ll find out in two weeks.

And I thought getting tested was going to be my traumatic event of the day. Hah.

After the test, I asked the woman for directions to get back to the appropriate PATH station. I’d taken the bus to the hospital, but it hadn’t been a very long distance and I thought it would be okay to walk. Even though it was already dark. Hah. So she suggested I walk over to this particular well-lit street, and “as long as you walk purposefully, you shouldn’t have a problem.”

So I was walking, hadn’t yet reached that particular block. I was on a relatively wide street with a couple of people walking by; though no cars were passing, it didn’t seem particularly unsafe. This one woman was walking about 100 feet ahead of me, and this guy was walking in the other direction, toward me. After the woman passed, the guy came up to me and put his hand on the front of my coat. He was taller than me (which is not unusual), African-American, with facial hair. First I thought he was going to ask me for change and I’d ignore him and move on, because there are always people asking for change. But I tried to move, and he wouldn’t let go of me. He said, “Just hold on a sec.” I saw the woman ahead of me, continuing to walk, completely unaware of what was going on a hundred feet behind her. (So close, yet so oblivious, dammit.) I thought of screaming for help, but he said, “Don’t say anything. I got something really dangerous on me.” I said “okay,” as nonchalantly as I could. Then he said, “Gimme twenty bucks.” I said “okay,” and I took out my wallet. Fortunately I only had about fifteen dollars on me, and I gave that to him. He seemed disappointed. (Yeah, fucker, just because you see a short white guy with glasses carrying a satchel, you think he’s loaded with cash?) Then he walked off in the other direction. He didn’t even try to take my bag or the rest of my wallet or my watch. It was probably impulsive — he just saw me, this white guy, I looked like an easy target, and he decided to use me as an ATM. For all I know he wasn’t even armed, but I wasn’t going to take that chance; I just did what they always tell you to do when you get mugged — give them what they want.

The whole thing lasted maybe 15 or 20 seconds. I’m thankful, because obviously it could have been a lot worse. After he left, I just wanted to get the hell back to the train station. I saw a police car, but it turned out it wasn’t the real police; it was the postal police, whatever that is. I told them I’d just been mugged, and they said that if I wanted, they’d go call a cop and I could wait there for one to show up. But I didn’t really feel like waiting around, so I told them that’s okay, and I continued walking to the station, my eyes wide open, nervous of every single person walking by.

I really feel fucked with. I’ve been on edge since last night. I’m scared now. I feel powerless. I feel like I never want to walk outside, ever again. I even feel nervous about riding public transportation. So, this is what trauma feels like. On the phone, my mom told me stories of people occasionally getting assaulted in the parking lot at the upscale supermarket in my hometown. And that made me think, I could buy a house in a safe neighborhood and get burglarized. I could get assaulted in the suburbs. I feel like I can never be safe again, anywhere.

I didn’t think I’d be reacting this way. And this was one night after Dr. Melfi (Lorraine Bracco) was assaulted and raped on Sunday’s episode of The Sopranos, so it reinforced the reaction I got from watching that.

I spent most of the evening on the phone with four different friends and with the aforementioned Mom. (When talking to my mom I changed the details slightly; since I wouldn’t have been able to explain what I was doing in a different neighborhood, I changed the location to a similarly sketchy area on the way to the supermarket.) My mom suggested I go around the corner to the local bar/restaurant and get some dinner and a beer, and that’s what I did, accompanied by a book of crossword puzzles. Nothing like a good Bass to ease your soul. And having no cash on me, I paid by credit card.

I didn’t sleep well last night, because I kept replaying parts of the incident in my mind, sometimes reimagining the scene to include the things I wish I could have done. I know I did the right thing, I really do. But I wish I could have kicked his ass. I wish I could have punched him, knocked him down, told him not to fuck with me. Listen, asshole, I’ve never met you, I’m not responsible for your fucking problems. I’m tired of being stereotyped just because I’m a short white Jewish guy with glasses. Sure, pick on the guy who’s not strong enough to fight back. And just so you know, asshole, I’m hardly swimming in as much dough as you think I am.

I think in order to get over this, I may have to reimagine the scene with comic elements. I go off on him with this heavily-worded lecture, and he’s just so confused that he gives me a quizzical look, says “what the fuck,” and walks away. (And then I knock him down and kick his ass and call the cops.) I hope I get over this soon.

Oh, I forgot the weirdest part. Yesterday afternoon I bought lunch at the big cafeteria-type place down the street from my office. It cost four dollars. I gave the cashier a five, and as change, he gave me back a ten. I left without saying anything. So nine of those dollars weren’t even mine to begin with.

Cosmic justice? I don’t think so, unless the Fates were feeling particularly cruel yesterday. After all, I didn’t traumatize the cashier, threaten him with violence, or invade his psyche when he tried to sleep later that night or his thoughts the next day.

I�m ready to move.