|Better luck next time ;)|
It's not often in ones' life that one can take back what was taken from them. This is a true account of an event that happened to me recently. Now, for some background information:
My bicycle was stolen from the central area of the city I live in in Sweden on July 2, 2012. As I was walking home one evening I spotted it sitting on the side of the sidewalk exactly three weeks to the day it was stolen at about the same time of day. It was near a group of the local alcoholics who sit and drink usually along spots nearby the river. I have never seen them at this place before. They are almost daily being relocated by the police and removed from certain locations due to both the tourist season or when public events are being held and the town elders don't wish to cast a dark shadow on the false imagine they have invested a fortune of taxpayers money to propagate across the globe.
Now back to my story.
First, I checked to see that it was my bike and indeed it was and looked over the group of Alcoholics. Perhaps 8 in total. Then I began to ask in English who was the one who stole my bike. I kept repeating that this was my bike and it was stolen I was was taking it back. The lies & excuses began to fly as popcorn kernals exploding out of a pot.
As I didn't get a straight anwser, I picked up the bike, since a cable lock was around the rear tire and started to carry the bike away. I was across the street and on the other side of the rode when one of the older men yelled out a name and a young man perhaps in his 20s came running after me. He took out a phone and said he was calling the police. Yea, sure, was my first thought. I said to him, go right ahead and I'll tell them this is my bike and that you stole it. He put his phone back and insisted I come back and talk about this with a woman whom he said, owned the bike.
I thought, Ok, I'll go along just to let them know this was my bike and I was taking it back. When I returned there was a tall young man who was very fit and dressed in all black and he came and stood at my side with his arms crossed studying the group. I first thought that perhpas he was a bouncer from the near by Pub who came out to quiet me down. My language was very colorful and I was very loud and determined that I would take back what was mine. I had no fear and even though my outside was emotional, on the inside, I was calm and confident.
I asked the man in black if he understood English and he nodded in agreement. I was saying that we would just wait here for the Police and I would wait as long as it took. I said this is my bike and I have documentation to prove it. The man in black said in a low voice to me in English, "I am the police". Then, asked if this was truly my bike and I answered, "Yes, it is mine and IU can prove it".
I was getting the typical feel sorry for me excuses and lies. That the woman had bought it in the big square in town. I replied that that was not my problem. She should go back to whoever sold her the bike and get her money back.
Then I said I don't want trouble and I will make it easy for everyone involved. Just take your lock off the bike, and I'll take my bike and ride away. The man in black nodded at the young man and he immediately went to the bike and unlocked it. I then hopped on and rode away with almost a feeling of awe. I thought what are the chances of this happening To walk within a foot or two of my stolen bike, have the theif to confront directly and to have an undercover policeman at my side to protect me although the bums were lucky he was there to protect them. My patience was about at the end after dealing with these knukleheads.
I thought it was very telling that the young man who chased me down and insisted that the bike belonged to another, also knew the combination to the lock. A thief, but not a very bright one. As I have often said is that Sweden it is a criminals paradise and it's so just to easy to get away with crime considering the weak laws and carelessness of the population.
Justice was served and in a self-reliant and responsible manner, at least from my point of view.
If I told this story to the average or what I call, the typical Swede, they would think that I was lying or if they believed me, that I was a mean person for not being within framework of a victim mentality who cowers before any form of conflict. Although, there are a few left with some common sense and a bit of grit and they are the ones whom I write this for along with those in my homeland who understand my thinking. I think that they will get a chuckle out of this narration. At least, I hope so.
I hope that you have enjoyed reading my story. I rarely write about my personal life, but thought that there was a lesson here to be learned.
Note: This is a true account. The names and location have been left out to protect the rights of the guilty. ;)