Colombian Scumbag

After bussing tables, running food and stocking sugar packets for eight solid hours at Caffe Museo, I began my victorious walk of freedom down Third Street to the Montgomery Train Station Saturday afternoon. I turned on Market Street to see the hustle and bustle of tourists and residents alike rushing here and fro. It was a sunny, beautiful day in San Francisco.

As I approach the stairs leading to the Muni trains, I notice two teenage girls ten feet ahead of me, and a short, stocky latino man following closely behind, but separate from them. Just before the 3 began their descent down the stairwell, the latino man quickly and aggressively stuck his hand between one of the girls legs and pulled up, grabbing her butt with enough intensity to temporarily lift her from the ground.

Obviously shocked and scared, the two girls made their way out of the Muni entrance, backing up against a 22-story building. Almost instinctually I stood in front of the man, stopping him from walking down the stairs, and asked him what the fuck he was doing; to which he replied in broken english, "Hey man, I'm drunk."

I looked to the girls as they stared at me with a dumbfounded look upon their faces, and asked them if they knew the man. "I've never seen him before in my life," the victim replied. For a moment I didn't know whether to tell this guy he's a piece of shit and go catch my train or to see the situation through. I saw tears beginning to stream down the little girls face and knew I didn't have a choice. I told them to call the police, which the did immediately.

I looked back at the man asking him the same question, receiving the same answer; "hey man, I'm drunk."

I said "That's no excuse. Look at them. They're just little girls. What if that girl was your daughter and I did that to her?"

The man seemed fairly responsive at first, admitting what he had done was wrong and that they should call the police. He said that he respected me for what I was doing and extended his hand to shake mine. I began to feel a slight sympathy for the man after he began taking personal responsibility for the situation, but refused to shake his hand anyway. He didn't seem to like that, and continued to negate any shred of sympathy I had for him.

"You want a bullet for your head.... my cousin is so-and-so from Colombia, he's crazy... fuck those stupid bitches...," and so on he went.

After ten minutes of being threatened my this drunk Colombian man, I saw him look over my shoulder to the police officers approaching on-foot. I had to smirk when I saw the glare of hatred in the cop's eyes before he plowed through the man, shoving him against nearby newsstands. The second cop came shortly after with the same look in his eyes and the same non-textbook style of apprehension.

I walked over to the two girls who were watching the arrest and asked them how old they were and where they were from. "16 - Berkeley."

The drunk Colombian was stuffed in the back of a squad car and hauled off to jail, for what I'm assuming is sexual assault.

One of the police officers took our information and detailed our report of the incident in his notebook. He told me I was going to be contacted by an inspector and that I could go. Just as I was leaving the victimized girl looked at me with her tear-filled eyes and said, "Thank you so much for helping us," and I was on my way.