To the man in the dirt green plaid shirt and black shorts,

You fail.

You failed the moment you decided to stick your hand in my pocket while I was being jostled into the train the other day. You are so lucky there wasn't enough space for you in the train or I'd have dragged you in and knocked you senseless.


First of all, I was wearing fitting jeans. Which basically means that I can feel when someone's heading for the cellphone in my left pocket.

Secondly, you should have gone for my iPod, which I had clearly used and returned to my right pocket. You should have noticed that my phone was somewhat outdated in comparison and even if you weren't sure which pocket the iPod was in, you could always have followed the trail of my headphones.

Thirdly, while I was sitting on the bench waiting for the train to come, you should have noticed that I wasn't slouching, nor were my eyes idling away. I wasn't being inattentive.

Failing the above three, you should at least have noticed the metal clip sticking out of my back pocket along with the top of my switchblade, before deciding to pick pocket me. You had a full 23 minutes to realize that.

If it hadn't been for my being pushed into the train by the crowd, I would have drawn it just to scare you.

Okay. Wait.

I'm sorry.

I couldn't possibly expect you to have noticed the knife.

But at least you could have taken a hint from my hairdo?

And while I was entering the train, you could have tried to yank your hand away before I fully tightened my grip on your wrist.

I am sincerely sorry for whatever damage my left thumb digging into your wrist might have caused.


Maybe you just started your new hobby.

Maybe you'll get better.

Or maybe you'll meet another sharp witted guy in less fortunate circumstances and be beaten to a pulp.

Either ways, as a pick pocket, you fail.


You epic fail.