Emma, a close friend of my wife, seems to always find herself in unfortunate predicaments, even though she doesn’t go out of her way to cause trouble. She’s just that kind of person—exceptionally unlucky. The first wild incident happened to her about three years ago.
Emma was returning from work around midnight. After parking her car, she briskly embarked on her heart-pounding and thrilling hundred-meter dash to the front door of her apartment building. She didn’t make it even three meters.
Two figures in hoodies emerged from the darkness and advised her not to move. They demanded money, jewelry, and other valuables. To prevent any unnecessary argument, they hit Emma on the head with a bat.
The result: a concussion, a large bruise, and various minor injuries. She lost her handbag containing important documents, money, keys, and identification. Emerging from the shadows, poor Emma did the standard procedure of filing a report with the police. The officers reluctantly opened a case but quickly closed it, citing “inability to identify the perpetrators.”
Emma felt insulted and wasn’t ready to give up. She went door-to-door asking if anyone in her building had seen or heard anything.
Finally, she got lucky. Someone in the building had left their car’s dashcam running that night. This resident, upon seeing the footage the next morning, took the initiative to hand it over to the police (around the same time Emma, with her head wrapped like a soldier, was filing her report). The man was thanked, but the footage was deemed too unclear—the attackers’ faces flashed past the camera, featuring a woman’s handbag. But what could the officers do with ordinary faces? They jokingly suggested if the attackers had worn shirts displaying their passport numbers, they could have done something. Otherwise, they thanked the guy for his help and suggested Emma let it go.
So, Emma had to let it go, keeping the grainy video as a keepsake.
Since then, her husband tried to meet her at the car park, while the children watched from the window.
However, her husband was busy too and sometimes returned from work even later. Sometimes, Emma had to walk from the car to the building alone, and inevitably, the scenario nearly repeated itself. The differences? This time, after a similar blow to the head, she managed to spray the attackers with pepper spray, which resulted in just two strikes this time—the second more forceful than the first.
The police didn’t adjust their investigation strategy at all and closed the case even faster, as Emma hadn’t seen the attackers’ faces.
A stressful year passed, during which her husband packed his bags and left to seek an easier life abroad. Emma changed jobs a few times, altered her hairstyle, and redecorated her flat.
One day, our heroine went to a car wash and recognized one of her attackers. It was clear he knew the workers well, and they had seen him before. But at the police station, she was bluntly told:
– Even if it’s him, we have nothing to charge him with. The video is unclear—it doesn’t show if he hit you on the head or just walked out of the building with a bat. And we can’t stake out the car wash 24/7 to catch someone unidentified. Maybe you should start wearing a German helmet if you insist on wandering around at night.
Another astonishing year passed, her headaches subsided. Emma fell for a steadfast man and happily married him.
Soon after, her old unsolved robbery case miraculously resurfaced and, quite unexpectedly, both attackers were caught, as if under a microscope. They were sentenced and tucked away for twelve years in a far-off prison.
Although life was improving, minor misfortunes continued to find Emma—karma, after all, is unrelenting.
One evening, during rush hour, Emma was running late for an important meeting. She abandoned her car and dashed into the Tube. As she reached the street, she noticed a lengthy, brutal cut in her beloved handbag. Inside, her colorful wallet with all her IDs, credit cards, and a heap of holiday cash was missing.
Emma made a couple of perfunctory sobs and, wasting no time, called her beloved husband (thankfully, they hadn’t taken her phone):
– Hey Honey, you’re not going to believe this, but I’ve been robbed again, most likely in the Tube.
Her husband, ever the rock, quickly responded:
– Emma, don’t worry, everything will be fine. Where are you?
– By Westminster station.
– Stay on the line and go back into the Tube. Find a police officer, hand them the phone, and relax.
Within a minute and a half, Emma was sitting in a police station in the Tube, surrounded by bustling officers, who enthusiastically offered her a choice of tea: green, black, or black with bergamot.
And after two not-so-exciting hours, a sweat-drenched yet jubilant captain burst through the door with a colorful wallet in hand.
Everything was inside, including the money. It pays to be married to a police chief.
