Charlotte, a close friend of my wife, often finds herself in rather unpleasant situations, despite not doing anything specific to attract them. It seems she’s incredibly unlucky by nature.
The first bizarre incident occurred about three years ago.
Charlotte was returning from work around midnight, parked her car, and, as usual, made a quick dash in the thrilling hundred-meter sprint to her front door. Three meters shy of her goal, two hooded figures emerged from the shadows and advised her to stay where she was. They demanded money, jewelry, and other valuables, making sure she didn’t engage in any needless debate by striking her on the head with a bat.
The outcome: a concussion, a large bruise, and the loss of her handbag containing important documents, money, keys, and other identification. Emerging from the darkness, she filed a report with the police. Reluctantly, they opened a case but soon closed it, citing “inability to identify the culprits.”
Charlotte was deeply frustrated and didn’t give up easily. She went door to door, asking the neighbors if anyone had seen or heard anything.
Finally, luck came her way. Someone had parked their car outside with a dashboard camera recording that night. This person, realizing the situation by morning, took the initiative to hand the video over to the police just as Charlotte, bandaged like a soldier, was filing her report. Despite the footage, the police dismissed it, stating the attack was only vaguely visible, and no words were audible. Yes, faces flashed by when the thieves ran past the car with her handbag, but without clearer evidence, the case was dismissed. Charlotte had to accept this and kept the video for posterity.
From then on, her husband tried to meet her at the car park, while the kids kept watch from the window.
However, her husband had a busy schedule too, sometimes returning home even later than Charlotte. Whether she liked it or not, she occasionally had to walk alone from her car to the door. Predictably, a similar scenario repeated itself. This time, after the first identical blow to her head, she managed to spray her attackers with pepper spray, earning her only a second, albeit stronger, blow.
The police stuck to their previous stance and closed this case even faster, claiming Charlotte hadn’t seen the attackers’ faces.
About a year later, nerves worn thin, her husband packed his bags and left in pursuit of an easier life abroad. Meanwhile, Charlotte switched jobs, got a new haircut, and renovated her apartment.
One day, she visited a car wash and recognized one of her attackers, clearly acquainted with the staff. The police, however, were dismissive:
“Even if it’s him, there’s nothing to charge him with. The video is unclear and doesn’t demonstrate he attacked you. We can’t conduct round-the-clock surveillance at the car wash on a hunch. Better wear a helmet next time you’re out late.”
Another year passed, during which Charlotte’s headaches faded. She fell in love with a steadfast man and successfully married him. Miraculously, the old pending robbery case was revived, and the attackers were captured and sentenced to twelve years, much like insects pinned under a microscope in a museum. Yet, despite an improved life, minor criminal misfortunes seemed drawn to Charlotte’s unlucky aura.
One evening at rush hour, Charlotte was rushing to an important meeting, abandoned her car, and dashed into the subway. Upon emerging, she discovered a brutal slash in her favorite handbag, and inside, her colorful wallet with documents, credit cards, and a holiday stash was missing. Holding back frustration, she called her husband (thankfully her phone wasn’t stolen):
“Hello, darling, you’ll laugh, but I’ve been robbed again, probably in the subway.”
Her husband, ready to help, quickly replied:
“Don’t worry, Charlotte, it’ll be alright. Where are you?”
“Near King’s Cross station.”
“Stay on the line, head back into the metro, find an officer, and hand him the phone. Relax.”
Minutes later, she found herself in the bustling metro police station, offered tea and reassured by the officers. Within a couple of hours, a breathless but triumphant captain burst through the door, holding her colorful wallet.
Everything was inside, including the cash. It pays to be married to a police chief.
