My Mugger Chose the Most Interesting Knife!

So Much to Know

Aging is great because you learn so many things on the way. I don’t mean just that you gain perspective; I mean if you slow down a bit you see so many details. I’m at that point in life where I’m worried that I might in fact start forgetting details. I fight that. I keep a list of words I want to remember to use—many lists in fact. I rotate them every day. And when I come across something interesting in the news, I print it out and tape it up next to the words.

I’ve learned that new experiences keep the aging brain on task. I don’t worry about myself as long as I stay interested in life. Actually, I think I worry less than most people do, and that’s reassuring.

I was robbed one night, at knifepoint, and the knife interested me. I asked about it.

“Forget the knife. Don’t ask about the knife. Or I’ll use it,” my assailant said. He was getting nervous.

“But isn’t it a kitchen knife? Can you really just grab a kitchen knife and run out the door like that? Won’t it cut you just as likely as it cuts me, for instance? You should have a holder.” That was obvious, and the obvious deserves recognition.

“Give me your money,” he said.

“Of course,” I said. “I certainly will. I have a twenty-dollar bill in my pocket, but I’m afraid that’s it. I was just going to the drugstore to get some soda. Funny isn’t it, that we go to drugstores now instead of delis? I grew up when there were delis.”

“That twenty,” he said. “Give it to me.”

“Did you grow up on delis or is your generation perfectly fine with drug stores?” It was a thing I thought about often. The differences between generations. There are lots of things I miss from my generation, things that seemed boring, mundane, even insignificant—but they strike me now as having been important. Corner delis, for one. Being able to just go out and get a sandwich. They have prepared sandwiches at the drugstores, but they don’t please me. And there were stores that were specialists—stationery, shoe repair, card stores. We don’t have those anymore.

“The money,” he said. He was waving his knife now.

“You know,” I said, “you can sharpen knives? Have you sharpened that one? They get dull from cutting things—celery, onions, maybe meat if you’re a meat eater. Are you a meat eater?”

“Twenty dollars,” he said, waving it closer. “Don’t push me,” he said. “I get nervous and I twitch, and you wouldn’t like me twitching with this knife near your throat, would you?”

“Sounds bad,” I said. “Just let me reach into my pocket and the twenty is yours and we can go about our business like normal people.” I reached in and took out my rolled-up twenty. “See? Here it is. Just like I said. It’s all right to take it. I was just going to get a soda and maybe some chips. I like chips, do you?”

He took the money. “You’re nuts,” he said. “I’ve never met anyone like you. I think you’re enjoying yourself. Are you enjoying yourself?”

“Well,” I said. “I’m friendly. I like meeting people. We could go for a coffee or something and you could tell me how you got this job. You know, robbing people.”

“Quit looking at my face,” he said.

“Face?” I asked, surprised. “Why, here’s the thing, I never remember faces, but all right, I’ll look away. To the right? To the left? Did you know that your instinct is to go in the direction of your dominant hand? And also, this I just learned, you have a dominant leg! Imagine that. I suppose we could get right down to dominant toes, maybe. Dominant eyes. My left eye is getting a little strange, it sees things darker than my right eye. Though I’m glad of course that it can see. I’m not ungrateful.”

“You talk too much.” He was putting the twenty into his jeans pocket. The jeans were a little too tight, and he got distracted by having to pry his pocket open. I smacked the knife out of his hand. Then I kneed him in the crotch and he fell down.

“Sorry,” I said. “I’ve taken a lot of self-defense. Well, I mean I watched a few videos and acted them out.” I knelt down on his neck and reached over to my dominant right for the knife. I began to systematically cut his clothes off. “Sorry. I know it’s chilly. But I read somewhere that people won’t necessarily call the cops if they see someone running, but they will if they see someone naked. Interesting statement about society, isn’t it?”

Choking, he said, “You can take the twenty back. I won’t fight. It’s cold and I’m anemic.”

“Do you drink a lot of coffee? I read that coffee and tea can interfere with iron absorption.” I looked at him closely. “You don’t look like a tea drinker.”

“Look, leave me some clothes. Please! I’m sorry! This my first try at robbing someone, I swear. I’ve learned my lesson.” He sounded close to tears.

“Your first time? Wow, that’s bad luck. What are the odds?” I continued to cut away his clothes. I had ripped up his jacket and was starting on his shirt.

“You’re not going to tell me the odds? You haven’t just read about it?”

I kept my knee on his neck but I wasn’t cruel; he could breathe and talk. Still, this sounded a little insulting. “I don’t know everything.”

“No, no, look, don’t get annoyed. I’ve learned a lot from you. You’ve got a great mind.”

I ripped one side of his jeans and made a slash across his waistband and then down across his back pocket and did some general shredding. His clothes had been dissected. I did a few more slashes to make sure he couldn’t try to hold enough together to be covered. He couldn’t. He shivered.

“You cold?” That was satisfying.

“Nerves,” he said. “What if the cops pick me up?”

“You’ll need a good story. I’d start with amnesia.”

“That’s a cliché,” he said, and rolled over once I took my knee off. He got up, glaring at me, but I waved the knife so he wouldn’t try anything.

“Run,” I said. “That will keep your body temperature up. You’ll be fine. Run.”

And he ran.

I checked my phone for the weather. It was 50 degrees. Marathoners run in 50 degrees, with barely more clothes. And I’d let him keep his shoes, too, so it was a good comparison.

Then I called 911. “There’ a naked man running on Maple Drive,” I said. “I think he’s probably got amnesia.”

I hoped that story would help him. One of my teeth on the right (dominant) side was starting to ache. It might have been emotional cavities (I’d recently read about them), because while this had been interesting, it had also been stressful.

I noticed I still held the knife. It looked like a pretty good knife. I would have to research the brand.