Madrid Dangerous

Last Friday, with all the burdens and stress originated from the office, I was literally mort de fatigue. My physique was so overwhelmed that I could hardly manage to move my scrawny ass from the seat when the bus came to a stop at Moncloa. The metro was particularly crowded that afternoon; all wagons were packed with people like sardines in a can. I fought my way in and found my own vital space in front of an old lady on the last seat of the row. People kept filling in till not an inch was left for more. Even in a situation like this, I somehow managed to keep on reading Fitzgerald's The Diamond as Big as The Ritz, with a little discomfort though. My right hand was grabbing a vertical pole while the left one was holding the book and simultaneously the strap of my shoulder bag, for the safety of my belonging.

In Tirso de Molina entered more people and I felt uneasy and had a bad feeling that something wrong was going to happen. And it did. A small tanned girl with curly long dark hair, of twenty something, inserted herself between me and a gentleman nearby. Facing me, she crossed her arms that were covered with her sweater and coat. Though the train started with a jerk, she didn't even bother to get hold of anything, which provoked a great suspicion on my part. I enjoyed the novel no more but went on pretending to be absorbed in my world, unaware of the surroundings while, in reality, I was observing intently, within my vision range, my shoulder bag, hanging defenselessly in front of my right thigh. Suddenly I felt my bag moving a little. I got fully alert. Then the second time. I was imperceptibly fidgeting. Then came the third. My heart was racing a mile a minute. I looked down and, lo and behold, a hand on my half-open bag!

I looked up and stared at the girl, fuming. As if the most innocent person in the world, she, returning the gaze, asked me "¿Qué pasa?" (What's wrong?) And here was one of the most scandalous scenes that followed.

Me : ¡Que te voy a partir la cara, zorra! (I'm gonna smash your face in, bitch!)
Bitch : Pero no he hecho nada. (I haven't done anything)
Me : Que me estás robando la cartera. (You're trying to steal my wallet.)

Here intervened a witness, a young Spaniard with his girl, confirming me that what she was trying to do.

Me : ¡Hija de puta, ven conmigo, a la guardia, al vigilante! (Bitch, come with me, I'm taking you to the security guards!)
Bitch : Pero no he hecho nada! (But I haven't done anything!)

Our scene was again intervened, by the bitch's friends who were at the doors. Yep, they worked in group. They yelled out, asking what happened. Arriving the next station (Antón Martín), I dragged the bitch out while her friends insisted on staying, but to no avail, because the other passengers just kicked them all out like disgusting stray dogs.

We were making a scene scandalous enough to get the attention of everyone EXCEPT the metro guards. Those bitches were trying their best to seem innocent and find other victim while I followed them with silent rage along the platform. A lady almost fell prey to them when she was surrounded. I got in and warned her loudly. She seemed surprised of what was happening and told me to calm down and don't pay attention to them.

They mounted the upcoming train, in a totally full wagon so that I couldn't follow. I was burning with furore and told the passengers in a shout that they were pickpockets. The doors slided close and the train left, leaving me with the confusing sensation of angry outburst and weakness. At least, I should have done something. Only if some security agents had been there...

My boiling temperament was intensified even more when I saw seven guards chatting in a group at the station I got off . Were they supposed to be there, chatting? Weren't they supposed to be patrolling in different stations? The answer I wouldn't bother to find out. From then on, it became clear that it was the problem of somebody else's, not mine. At least, I had saved my wallet, my PDA phone and my Gucci sunglasses. That's what really mattered.

In a metropolis like this, you can't depend on security agents nor police. Nor can you leave your guard down, or else someone will always find a way to get to you. The best way to come up with these sorts of petty criminals is to build up your own defense; be aware. It's an obvious fact that I've never given it a serious thought before.

After spending two whole days complaining to myself like a wacky nerd, I decided to put this into the blog. No matter where you are from, if you come to Madrid, be very very very careful and always pay attention to your personal effects or you will regret it.

Until next time, keep watch of your bags and never let them get you!

P.S. : This site gives some tips about how to deal with pickpockets.
http://travel.howstuffworks.com/pickpocket.htm