Tuesday morning was cold, really cold. With temperatures in the single digits I wrapped my black scarf around my face so that only my eyes were visible. With my black knit hat on the top and the scarf down below I was officially into my snow ninja costume. I was ready to do snow ninja things like walk to the bus stop, ride the bus and then walk the rest of the way to work. Snow ninja!
I ninja-walked the last two mostly unshoveled blocks and was ready to sit down at my desk when I see a co-worker wearing the little white hospital bracelet ID thing. I look up and she has a few cuts on her face. Before I could even ask she told me how she was mugged by 2 punk kids on the way in.
Like me, she usually walks into work this time of year and rides a bike into work during the warmer months. Early in the morning when she was walking in these 2 teens attacked her. They took her bag but that wasn’t enough. They needed to repeatedly strike her in the head after they had her things. As she told me more details I began to tense up, filled with a combination of fear and anger.
Aside from some minor cuts, bruises, soreness and all the psychological damage that comes with such an attack, she seems okay. Yeah that’s a bit of sarcasm. What kind of people attack a woman in the light of day on such a cold morning? Were they desperate? Were they sick? Considering that there were 2 assailants I’m going to go with not crazy and not sick. If it were one person, you never know but 2 people working in concert to perpetrate such a heinous act is just evil. The fact that these were young adults makes me think that these 2 are well on their way to successful criminal careers. I mean, if they are already willing to do this, how long before they kill someone for a hundred bucks or less?
I talked to my co-worker about what happened and she was worried about all the things she lost; her bank information, cards, keys, phone, a few CDs and all the cash she had for a week and a half. I mentioned that it was quite possible that the crooks would take the cash, phone and maybe a few other valuables and then toss the rest. A lot of times this happens near where the actual crime took place. As they run away and flee the scene, they’ll stop somewhere close by where they feel like they are safe enough and go through the bag and pick out what they want and then drop the rest. About an hour after mentioning that to her, her bag was found with all her cards, keys and it seemed like they took the cash, one check, her ID and her phone and discarded everything else.
She had a good attitude about it. She talked about how it could have been worse. She’s right, it could have been. They could have had a weapon. They were sadistic and brazen enough without a weapon but in theory she could have been seriously hurt or worse and for what, a little bit of cash and a cell phone?
When she was telling me about her ordeal it was really stirring things up inside me. I was getting so angry that if those kids suddenly appeared in front of us I would have laid the smack down on them. At the same time there was this emerging fear inside because I am someone who walks around the neighborhood too. I’m already paranoid enough from my youth growing up on the lower west side where dodging punk kids became an art form. I had a mental layout of all the streets near my house and the best yards or “passageways” to use to get away from someone pursuing me or to get somewhere fast. After being attacked or jumped so many times growing up I still carry a little bit of fear on my mind when I’m walking up a street and see 3-4 punks coming the other way. Of course no one has really bothered me since my teen years. Maybe it’s due to how big and intimidating I’ve gotten. The point is that I’m still on alert when I’m out there and I burn a little bit hearing about this because there’s a part of me who would love to settle the score for her.
Some of you know my love of fairy tale vigilantes. I love a good vigilante story. It’s why I love those Death Wish movies, Dirty Harry, Shaft, Batman, the Crow, Leon the Professional, Iron Man, Dexter and the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. It’s what my book is about if I ever finish writing it. I love movie vigilantes. I want to be a movie vigilante. The only problem is real-life vigilantes don’t have it the same way. It doesn’t work out so perfectly for the vigilante in reality. So despite all my little boy dreaming I’m grown up enough to know it doesn’t work that way in the really real world. So I won’t be painting my face or wearing a cape and talking scruffy anytime soon.
Did you know that for a time I wanted to be a police officer? This goes back a while but it’s true. I took a criminal justice class and hung around with a few guys who were already in the Criminal Justice major. I had a naïve fascination with being one of the good guys. I wanted to be someone who helped people and made a difference. What turned me off to further studies were the people I met in the program and in the class. There were a lot of douchebags who wanted to become what I perceived as the wrong kind of police officers. One of those guys was actually one of my best friends at the time. His name was Paul.
When we were younger Paul and I did some stupid things and followed fads. We pretended we were tougher, smarter and cooler than we were but that was only in our world. We were pretty much wanna-be dorks who did just enough (played high school football) to not be picked on by the cool and rough. As we approached college I began to emerge from my malt liquor, Yo MTV Raps, selfish, smartass, arrogant, pretending to be a goomba phase and started to see who I really was and what the world might be like when I gazed upon it with my own eyes.
After several years passed I was becoming more comfortable with who I was and who I wanted to be but my friend was that same guy from a few years back. He was still wearing ridiculous multi-colored shirts with the top 3 buttons open and gold chains resting inside on a hairy chest. He put a ton of gel in his hair and an awful lot of cologne on his face. To people who saw us hanging out together, they must have seen Felix and Oscar. Despite our heading off in different directions I remained friends with him because of loyalty. We had been friends since grade school and I don’t discard friends easily due to the fact that I let so few in. I tried to be myself in a quiet way so as not to disturb our friendship. I didn’t share with him the things I was learning about myself and about life. He would have thought I was becoming weird or worse “gay”. Yes they even used that term back then when they thought something was stupid but I guess they wanted a one syllable word to describe it.
The only thing I thought he was doing right at the time was that he was trying to become a police officer and he was already in the criminal justice program. He went on ride-alongs with the police and I asked him about it frequently. I was in the business program but I was thinking of changing to criminal justice so I hungered to learn more about the job. I wanted to learn about the crazy and the terrible things he saw. I also wanted to hear about how the police were able to help people and resolve difficult situations. I wanted to hear about the good things, the honor and the passion as well. Every day the stories were the same. It was always about how cool it was to go to Ponderosa with them and get free food, or how they would get free coffees or slurpees at 7-11 and pick up women at some restaurant or store. He was so impressed with the police officers ability to get free things, pick up women and how people admired and were in awe of those in uniform. He wanted to get those same things. None of those things interested me and his stories became old fast. In fact his act grew tiresome and since this was the only thing I respected him for and it turned out to be a rude, I drifted away from him. He’d call me every once in a while but I wouldn’t answer the phone or I’d give him some excuse why I couldn’t hang out that weekend. I wondered why he still wanted to hang out with me, since we had become so different philosophically. After a while he quit trying to reach me and this was how 2 best friends from back in the day finally grew all the way apart.
The criminal justice class I was in and the people in the program I talked to and hung out with during that semester were no different than him. They were so concerned with image, status and power. What happened to honor, courage and justice? Needless to say these people rubbed me the wrong way and I went in another direction. I’m sure today that I was presumptuous. I based my feelings on a lot of stereotypes and a limited pool of data. Plus I’m certain I became a little too emotional about something so trite but sometimes that is my way. When looking for my heart, if you can’t find it in my chest it is best to look on my sleeve.
I bailed on my thoughts of becoming a police officer because I was afraid of what people thought about me, how much I’d be liked and if I’d always have trouble because I was different than most of them. It’s silly to think about it now but my fears derailed me. I thought that I would be disliked as an officer because of my straight and narrow ways. I guess I’ve seen too many movies and television programs where cops were dirty and they would get everyone to turn on the good cops who had the courage to out them. I was afraid that I would become Serpico or something. So instead of mounting my high horse I released it to run free. It is a decision I regret on occasion because to this day I still want to be Robert Goren, Shawn Spencer, Monk, Magnum P.I., Shaft or if not a detective a profiler. That stuff is fascinating to me and I’m always trying to break down people to not only understand them but to also predict behavior. Nerd alert!
The point is there is light or a fire inside of me. There’s a passion to right wrongs, fix things, and balance the scales. It’s always been there and to this day I still haven’t found a way to channel it sufficiently. Conversely there’s also a darkness inside of me that wants to be Batman or someone who stops people from committing injustices or rights the wrongs. The light side makes me cry at the evil of men and the dark side gives me passion and hatred for those who would be evil or who would commit evil acts.
Thankfully the light comes out in my actions and the dark comes out in my writing and art. I think this is the best way. I’m glad it’s not a switch because if someone turned the light out I’d probably pummel someone for being a jerk, like those 2 kids who mugged my co-worker. The chances of them getting caught are pretty low. It doesn’t seem fair sometimes. I wish they’d get theirs before someone else gets hurt or killed. Maybe that’s the darkness talking.
If you ever see me out there buying tights, a cape and talking to you in an extra scruffy voice you’ll know that I’ve finally snapped. For now we’ll leave the judging and crime fighting to entities above me on the food chain. For now I’ll leave the light on.
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