Robbed By Children In Paris Episode 23

I just returned from the airport after dropping off my parents and their friends. They were in Vancouver for a couple of days, and before that, they took a nice Alaskan cruise, a big milestone trip for them. I am very happy for them. My point is that I went to the airport, and it reminded me of a trip that my husband and I took a number of years ago. 

This trip, in particular, ended with a situation that bothered me greatly because children robbed me. I got robbed by children, everybody. 

My husband and I took a trip to Paris when our daughter was very young, but we left her at home because she was too young to understand what was going on. We were fortunate to have relatives who took her for almost a week, and we were very grateful for that. And off we went on this trip. 

Our Last Day in Paris

Before we went on our trip, many people who had been to France or other European cities told us to be cautious of pickpockets, in particular. To preface, I only say this word because it was said to us: They said to watch out for the gypsy children, which was a totally weird concept to me. I had never heard of gypsy children before, but I now know it’s not a nice term to use. The more commonly used term is Roma. 

You're supposed to watch out for them and pickpockets when you're on the streets, and in our case, in Paris, France. When we landed, there were numerous warnings inside and outside the airport, on the train, and billboards. They generally said, "Watch your belongings, close your bags, keep your eyes open." 

A bit about me is that, to the extreme annoyance of my husband, I am a somewhat messy person. I'm a messy person, both at home and in my mind. Despite my ability to get a lot of shit done, I leave things very disorganized. If it's not on my mind, not a priority, or if it's very boring, I don't do it. Many times, it has to do with watching my loose ends. In this story, the loose end is a purse that I should have zipped up at all times. And for no particular reason, the purse wasn’t zipped up. This is foreshadowing of what is to come in this story.

On the last day of our trip, we visited the Louvre. Although my husband and I are not big fans of museums or art, it's certainly something to do, as it's a must-see attraction. The Louvre was very nice, but also very expensive, and featured historically prominent artwork. I'm the kind of person who stops and reads everything at the museum. My husband will stop for a minute, and I’ll be like, “Yeah, I'm good.” But that means I take my time, have some alone time, and read up on the art. I don't remember any of it. Now, it's not that I'm lying, I just don't remember. 

Side note: Sometimes it was kind of annoying in the Louvre, actually. Mainly because other tourists were very annoying, I might start some shit by saying this, but sometimes Asian tourists are a little bit annoying. A South Korean lady shoved in front of us to get to the front of the Mona Lisa before us. She got there, didn’t look at the Mona Lisa, just turned around, and posed so her partner could snap a picture of her with the Mona Lisa. They didn’t give a shit about the painting or take it in. I found it really annoying. 

I must say, many statues were anatomically accurate. They don’t leave out the dicks in statues in Europe, so we saw a lot of dicks. I mention this because I was reviewing the pictures from the museum and the theft that occurred afterward. 

So we finished looking at our dicks and then we went into a train station, which is located just beside the Louvre. We went down, then walked up some stairs to reach the train platform. Something happened on our way up the stairs as we were walking. I was thinking, "Oh, it's really drafty. What is this thing that’s like hitting my shoulder?" I turned around, and a few children were walking behind us, about two steps behind, wearing scarves. I looked at them, and they looked at me. So, I kept walking.

My husband and I are on the platform of the train, which has not arrived yet. As I stand there, I realize my bag feels very light, and I enter a state of partial panic. I put my hand into the purse, which was easy to do because I had left it open, and I realized, "Oh my God, my purse is missing!" That was me sounding an alarm. Now, at this point, there were many other people on the platform. 

Attention, Pickpocket! 

So, I’m freaking out on the subway platform because I’ve lost my wallet. It was an old Prada wallet which had all my ID in it. Luckily, it wasn't the ID I needed to leave the country. That gave me some peace, but I was missing my wallet, and nobody on the platform seemed to care. 

I wasn’t trying to make it anybody else’s problem, but we were very surprised how nobody at all even looked our way. It was this extreme apathy that people grew accustomed to, especially towards thefts on subway platforms. It was very on brand to their ennui. I don't like it at all. I think if I see anybody in distress, I will make a concerned face or try to help. Nobody fucking gave a shit. 

The train arrived, and people are now boarding. But I am not sure whether I want to board the train or not. My husband notices that a group of kids — the kids who were behind us — boarded the train, too, and it is at that moment that he makes a connection. He’s like, “Oh, I saw those kids outside of the train station as we were going in.” So at this point, he’s piecing together that these kids tracked us, and they followed us. It was me and him, and my open purse, and they came into the train station, and they came behind us with this flowy scarf. 

Maybe I should have realized that normally, a bunch of children don’t just share one big flowy scarf in the summer on the train. So we caught up to the kids, and my husband grabbed one of them, and I swear to God, he looked like he was going to punch one of them. At this point, he’s holding this kid. He tells me to this day that he had planned to punch and he would have punched one of them. He’s not a violent man. I told my husband to let the kid go, as they claim they didn't do it. My husband released the hold on the kid as the train doors closed, and they got on the train. 

And then at that second, we saw another man running onto the platform. He was the first person we had seen at the train station who seemed to give a shit about anything. He was running passionately onto the platform and the train. He yelled something down the platform, possibly at us. We had no fucking idea. We have tenth-grade French! I don’t know if this is a general statement, even if you understand a little bit of a language, you understand it a little less when it’s being yelled at you in a panicked tone down a subway platform. 

So he’s yelling, and we’re like, “What’s his problem?” And then he jams his foot into the train door, which makes the doors open. At this point, my husband realizes that the kids in front of him are the ones who were behind me. The scarf kids are what I'll call them.

So now, with massive regret, I realized we missed a chance to apprehend the children who stole my wallet. My husband and I were both annoyed. We weren't being rude to each other or anything, but I know my husband wished he had taken his shot at one of these kids. 

What did we do after that? We got on the next train and expected to find the scarf kids on the platform. 

And, yes, I know this is my fault. I should’ve zipped my purse up.

Catching the Criminals

So we arrive at the next platform, and the tackle man is there, along with the five medium-sized scarf kids. When I say "medium," I mean like the size of One Direction when they first debuted. They looked like they could have been in grade seven or eight. They wore normal clothes, sneakers, sporty clothes, caps, and stuff like that. That's what these kids looked like. They looked like they would be too young to be an organized crime ring.

So they're all sitting there, and I took a picture. Two of them hid their faces in shame, as they should have. The other ones did not. They were a little dead in the face.

At this point, we realize the man with the hat in the backpack is an undercover cop for sure. He started speaking a bit of English, which now pisses me off because why didn't you yell at us in English before? He could have assumed that I was not from that place, but he did not. We could have gotten everybody. Instead, there were five kids on the ground, and guess what? The cop said there were six of them in total, and the sixth one who got away was the one who took my wallet.

If I were from France, I'm pretty sure a bunch of Roma children wouldn't have stolen my wallet. Still, I blame myself. It was only my fault.

On our last day in Paris, we had an afternoon together at the police station. It was the five kids, the undercover cop, the two detectives, and my husband and I. We walked outside the station, where two detectives met us. For more context, the officer was skilled and knew how to use handcuffs effectively. He handcuffed four of them in pairs, so two and two, and then the fifth kid was zip-tied.

On the way there, we received a lesson in crime in Paris. The undercover officer informed us that these incidents occur frequently. These children were known entities to them, and when I asked if I would ever see my wallet again, they laughed in my face in French and said, "Probably not, but come to the station if you would like to attempt any justice."

And of course, I did. When I talk about attempting justice, it's also my need for spite and revenge.

Exercising Justice and Pettiness

I wanted to make sure these kids were punished. But I also needed to fight for a sense of justice, even if it's just a little bit. 

I wanted to increase the chances that my wallet and my ID would be found.

As the kids were getting booked, we thought, "Do we have time to get a coffee and a croissant?" And the police officers said, "Yes." Another thing about the French police is that the detectives were dressed like tech bros. They wore windbreaker jackets, a pair of jeans each, and some dress shoes. 

So, we got a coffee and a croissant, and we sat there looking through the glass between us and the kids in the other room. We could see that they were sitting there in a room. 

One of the girls gave me a mean, laughing kind of stare. I don't know what came over me, but because they were looking at me with no remorse, not sorry for what they did, I, a grown fucking woman, gave them the middle finger. I'm not proud of it, but I'm not ashamed either. I was so angry and annoyed. 

Since I had just gotten food, I figured they were hungry, too. I tauntingly ate my yummy croissant, and I looked at them, eating as if I was making love to the croissant, as if to say, "Don't you wish you had this?" I was like, chomp, chomp, mmm. And then I pat my belly, like "my belly was happy." It's the first time I've ever done anything like this. I don't think I'd ever do it again, but I was so angry. I know it's extremely immature, but it was also immature of them to steal my fucking wallet. 

Yes, it's unfortunate that those kids are not in school, and there are societal problems with Roma kids in Europe. Roma kids, by the way, who, I should mention, are not Romanian. We were confused because the detective said, "Oh yes, a lot of them are in Romania." So we thought, Oh, they're Romanian kids, Romanian gypsies.

Eventually, we looked it up on the internet, and no, the Roma people are of a different lineage and heritage that I will not get into because this podcast/blog is supposed to be short. Look it up if you want to, but definitely please do not call them gypsies, because they deserve a little bit of respect, except the five or six motherfuckers who stole my wallet and my last night in Paris. 

Despite the mishap and loss of my wallet, the situation was a little exciting. It was like we were on a high-speed chase. There was theft, there was revenge, and it was very fun, actually, and I got to be petty. 

Mostly, I am bothered by this story again. I'm bothered by the system that created this whole shit, but I'm mostly bothered by myself. I was warned to watch my fucking belongings, and I did not. I don't even wear the purse anymore because it brings me back to this horrible memory of being stupid.

If you watch the podcast video, you'll see how old this old Burberry purse is and how hard it is to zip it up, which now makes me realize it would have been very difficult to unzip her and steal my wallet. 

I'm an idiot. I'm bothered by myself. 

If you're going to Europe or anywhere else, just don't be as foolish as I was. Be smart and zip up your purse.