LAist gets jacked; gets back
Warning: First Person Article.
I was sitting at Starbucks in South Pas today, working on my laptop, talking to a client, when the door burst open behind me and a guy reached over, grabbed my computer, and took off running.
I jumped up without thinking. Before I closed the cell phone I was screaming "stop motherfucker, motherfuckin thief!" running hell-for-metal in my Spanish boots after this guy in Nikes as he sprinted down the block into a residential neighborhood.
Now: A word about backing up your files. You should always back up your files. That's the word. Also, keeping clients' credit cards mingled with personal diaries on your machine means you keep it chained to your body at all times, which I do (I won't even leave it in my house when I go out to a club), and so having someone grab it from right in front of you is like having someone steal your livelihood, your future and your dirty laundry all at once.
The only thing going through my head was that I couldn't let him get out of my sight.
A few steps and another gangster came running out of Starbucks behind me, blue tattoos all up his neck. He was chasing me, and I was chasing my life, down a sunny residential street.