Our pal Brittney Gilbert was sexually assaulted on Muni the other day.  She was on her way to work and when she went to get off a bus, an extremely-drunk-but-not-homeless man grabbed her crotch.  The experience sounds horribly traumatic, so that alone makes me feel sick.  But after she got off the bus, slammed a glass of wine, had a good cry and was comforted by her friends and co-workers, she was urged to go to the police and report the crime.  As Brittney noted, “these crimes are grossly underreported and even one more record of this kind of assault might mean more police presence in the future.”

However, when she got the police station at 6th and Bryant to report the crime, the response not only unhelpful, but absolutely unfitting for someone paid to “serve and protect” the residents of our city: 

“Okay. What do you want to do? File a report?” [The officer's] tone made his words sound more like, “Are you serious? You came all the way down here for this?”

“Yes,” I told him. Yes, I wanted to file a report.

He asked for more information. I gave it to him. He told me to wait. Then he came out and spoke with me face to face.

“We have two options here. We have a Muni task force. We can give them this info and they can be on the lookout for this guy. Or you can file a full report, but it won't do anything.”

He made sure to tell me this guy wouldn't be caught even if I filed a report. For a moment I hedged. For a split second I considered not filing a report. He nearly convinced me. Then I remembered what I came there to do.

“I realize this guy probably won't be caught, but this crime is underreported and I want to do my due diligence and make sure this one is. And if it means more police presence later, then even better.” He did not agree with me; he said nothing. The amount of sympathy he managed could fit into a thimble.

I waited more. While waiting with no where to sit for many minutes I considered the infirm or pregnant or elderly women who would be very physically uncomfortable waiting to file a similar report. With nothing to be said of the emotional discomfort.

Finally I was given a slip of paper with my case number on it. I was told that usually sexual battery requires “skin on skin contact,” but that that was how my case would be labeled. He told me I could follow the case online.

I initiated a hand shake. He finally, finally mustered that he was sorry this happened. He told me to be careful. It sounded a lot like, “don't let this happen to you again.”

You can read the entire tale on Brittney's blog.