At an ordinary train station on an ordinary Mondy night

This is a story from an ordinary woman on an ordinary event taking place on an ordinary Monday evening. From Basilisken via Hodja.

Judging from her picture, Basilisken is an ordinary woman in her prime, just an another ordinary Danish woman on her way home - and then showing a great deal of heroism. I have tried my best not only to translate it but also to capture some of the atmosphere of her story:

Wanted to take the local train on Hellerup [suburb of Copenhagen, ed.] Monday January 29 around ten PM. Passing five immigrant boys in the tunnel. They are shaking hands goodbye, the elder telling the youngest to take care. The three youngest starts to run, yelling they are about to miss the train. They must've missed it for they are sitting on a bench as I pass them [on the platform]. There is no one else present but us. I then feel two showers on my face, I'm thinking it cannot be possible they are spitting at me, but my doubts immediately disappears as they are having a barrel of laughs. I turn towards them and ask what they are doing. The oldest are sitting in the middle, and with a big grin he says nothing is going on. Something must have fallen from the roof, happens all the time - while the two youngest boys gleefully spits right in my face. I ask what their problem is and they spit again. I the lash out at one of them, he runs to the other side of me and kicks at my behind.

She returns to the tunnel and tries to call the police, but cannot get through. At this time she thinks the train must have pulled up at the platform, and she figures she will be safe on the train as there will be staff on-board.

As I am sitting down (at a distance) I see the boys rolling some newspapers into sticks and approach an elderly man who is sitting alone. Along with me, a young man (his name was "B" I'm later told) reacts. "B" very firmly grabs hold at the boys and get them to sit down. "Get my bag," he says; in his bag is his badge. The conductor is coming from the other end of the train, "B" tells me to ask him if he has called the police. Yes he has, as the boys have spend their idle time breaking windows. While "B" is searching their pockets (someone will be happy to get his mobile phone back) he tells me that they are three brothers, well known to the police and that they are frequently arrested, not only for mugging people, but also constantly stealing, break in and entering and vandalizing. Shortly thereafter four police officers enters. "Ah, them again". Only at this point does the boys stop their pleas that they have done nothing. Finally the train can depart. It is very unpleasant to sit in the train with a face full of spit. "B" says he will file a report, but that it won't do any good. The boys are all under 15, and the community and social workers aren't doing anything. Yesterday, when the boys where searched they had firearms. Whoops, I could have been shot.
A fellow passenger tells me: Don't be so negative.

Don't be so negative! Don't be so negative?? What the moron means is: don't be a racist. Well, he wasn't the one being spat in the face, now was he... perhaps next time it's his turn. Let's see how negative he will get when some juvenile punk kicks him in the arse.

Perhaps he will react in some extra-ordinary way like the brave basilisken. Then again, prolly not.