Well, it finally happened to me, the quintessential urban Atlanta experience: I was touched in a demeaning way by a strange man in a MARTA station. My sense of “how dare you! This is ME you’re dealing with!” caught me off guard, but honestly, I should’ve seen it coming. A good five to ten percent of my cases come from MARTA encounters, and the number goes way up when you look at just batteries, simple batteries, and especially sexual batteries.
I understand that there are some cities where people sleep during their commute. NEVER sleep on MARTA. I promise you that you will wake up with a homeless or homeless-smelling man stroking your inner thigh, at best. I had one client who was accused of massaging a girl’s thigh and telling her that she had a “fat pussy” (Great, one more area where we have to worry about weight gain.) She ended up coming to court in a belly shirt, low-cut jeans and a bolero jeans jacket, and the solicitor took her upstairs to change clothes AFTER the jury saw her, so he was acquitted.
Another guy was charged with beating a woman in the face on the train. He explained that no, he was simply concerned about the woman on the seat next to him because she was crying, so while it may have looked like she was crying because he hit her, he actually was wiping the tears from her face. His touching her had nothing to do with her distress.
In a way, I’m glad that a weirdo messed with me in the MARTA station. It gives me cred with the complaining witnesses and all things considered, it was a pretty mild episode. I was leaving the station, some too-familiar stranger in his late forties or so caught my eye as he approached, I put on my “no, we don’t know each other and I have nothing for you” face, and he started acting like he saw something on me. I tried to veer away, and he kept barreling at me, ending with “What is that? What is it? Oh! On your shoulder!” and pinched my shoulder as he walked by. It reminded me of my uncle Terry, who used to enjoy mildly demeaning jokes when I was a child– I think he might’ve quit doing “got your nose” when I was seven.
So, whatever, I was pestered on MARTA by some guy who has a poor sense of humor and no sense of boundaries. It annoys the daylights out of me to know that I could’ve gotten this turd arrested, and that there are a lot of people in Atlanta who would’ve done just that. I represented one guy who was actually arrested for flicking a family friend on the ear, after the kid complained to his mother about it. You could tell that the cop was really pissed about the mother’s insistence that he arrest the poor sap for battery. Unlike most police reports, this one was oozing with PRO-defendant sarcasm (“I charged the defendant with simple battery rather than battery because there was no visible injury, in spite of the flicking.”)
Personally, I think this is the sort of situation where vigilante justice is wholly appropriate. Why bring the courts into something this stupid? I would’ve gladly socked the dumb-ass who messed with me if he’d stuck around– or maybe I just would’ve screamed and run, I don’t really know– but as it was, I said something like “What the fuck?” scrunched up my face in annoyance, and went home through the courtyard of the High so I could see something pretty. Come to think of it, that probably is the most acceptable solution; last time some of my clients tried hitting back, it started as “play fighting” with pillows and ended up with both parties drawing knives. Better just to adopt a “get thee behind me weirdo” attitude and go looking for something pretty to take your mind off him.
