another urban adventure
There is nothing too special about this short tale. It starts like so many other stories. A sweaty guy approaches you at a gas station at 2 a.m.. I know, right now, you are jumping in your car and locking the doors, as I should have been. But there were a couple cop cars at the station, so I listened.
The guy gives me a story about how he was in evanston, rehabbing a house, and his car is stolen, then he's beat up by five black kids, he runs, the cops are called and they are looking for his car and he took a cab to this gas station in skokie that I happened to stop at for gas at 2 a.m.. I listen to his story and ask him what he needs from me. He tells me he needs a couple bucks for the EL to downtown and 6 more for the train to Barrington. And I immediately remember that almost every single scam artist that is somehow stuck in the city with no car seems to be from Barrington.
I ask him for ID and all he has is a library card, a Chicago library card. You live in Barrington, I say, and that's a Chicago card, and he tells me of an uncle that lives in the city. Red flags are dropping left and right.
But he does seem like a normal guy, kind of a Chicago accent, but I have been fooled before.
Somehow, he seems right enough, so I offer him a ride to the Metra and money enough to get where he needs. I am wary, but he really seemed like a normal guy in a bad situation. He wants to drive through the shitty part of Evanston to look for his car. I drive slow along Emerson, and he shows me where it happened, about a mile from where I live, and points out the gang of young black men that are still hanging out on the street at 2 a.m. and I want to help him, but I don't want to be that involved. He wants me to drive around the dark streets to search, but I don't want to, and then he wants me to drop him off, so he can walk around the same area that he just got beat up in, but I suggest he just gets a train and goes home.
He grudgingly agrees and I drop him off with 11.75 and a bottle of water. He offers his address and other info, but I give him my PO Box address and tell him not to worry about it.
I have mixed feelings, as usual. Was I punked, or did I mildly help someone in trouble? Should I have done more? Did I do too much?
I got home, and curiosity got the best of me, and I called the police department.
They did, in fact, get a report of his type of car being stolen.
I'm not 100% convinced that it's all on the up and up, but maybe next week I'll get a letter from Barrington with a note of thanks. Maybe this time, my cautious, wary, but somewhat foolhardy instincts were okay.
It all got me thinking of all the times I've had crime done against me. Here is a short list.
car broken into about 10 times, all in the city of chicago, most times near where I lived. Stolen: CB radio, scanner, my first good banjo and fiddle, CDs and tapes, fishing equipment.
burglary: they caught 3 kids red-handed. I told the cops exactly how much money was taken and one of the kids had it on him, but the kid claimed it was his and they let him keep it. Or did they? I feel like I was robbed twice.
pickpocketed: clever crooks. in a grocery store, where one guy distracted me by grabbing the front of my cart and rolling it back and forth while staring at me, while another reached into my pocket and took my wallet. They work similar distraction techniques on the subway all the time, so be careful!
Armed robbery: at a mexican restaurant, a block from my house, I walked into the cafe' while the crooks had everyone in the basement at gunpoint. Their lookout called them up and I was promptly instructed to get on the floor and not look up by a guy with a really huge silver gun.
I think I can certainly empathize with other crime victims, like my guy tonight, but I guess the catch 22 is risking being a victim again.
Not this time. Here I safely sit, uneasy and sleepless at 4 a.m..
The guy gives me a story about how he was in evanston, rehabbing a house, and his car is stolen, then he's beat up by five black kids, he runs, the cops are called and they are looking for his car and he took a cab to this gas station in skokie that I happened to stop at for gas at 2 a.m.. I listen to his story and ask him what he needs from me. He tells me he needs a couple bucks for the EL to downtown and 6 more for the train to Barrington. And I immediately remember that almost every single scam artist that is somehow stuck in the city with no car seems to be from Barrington.
I ask him for ID and all he has is a library card, a Chicago library card. You live in Barrington, I say, and that's a Chicago card, and he tells me of an uncle that lives in the city. Red flags are dropping left and right.
But he does seem like a normal guy, kind of a Chicago accent, but I have been fooled before.
Somehow, he seems right enough, so I offer him a ride to the Metra and money enough to get where he needs. I am wary, but he really seemed like a normal guy in a bad situation. He wants to drive through the shitty part of Evanston to look for his car. I drive slow along Emerson, and he shows me where it happened, about a mile from where I live, and points out the gang of young black men that are still hanging out on the street at 2 a.m. and I want to help him, but I don't want to be that involved. He wants me to drive around the dark streets to search, but I don't want to, and then he wants me to drop him off, so he can walk around the same area that he just got beat up in, but I suggest he just gets a train and goes home.
He grudgingly agrees and I drop him off with 11.75 and a bottle of water. He offers his address and other info, but I give him my PO Box address and tell him not to worry about it.
I have mixed feelings, as usual. Was I punked, or did I mildly help someone in trouble? Should I have done more? Did I do too much?
I got home, and curiosity got the best of me, and I called the police department.
They did, in fact, get a report of his type of car being stolen.
I'm not 100% convinced that it's all on the up and up, but maybe next week I'll get a letter from Barrington with a note of thanks. Maybe this time, my cautious, wary, but somewhat foolhardy instincts were okay.
It all got me thinking of all the times I've had crime done against me. Here is a short list.
car broken into about 10 times, all in the city of chicago, most times near where I lived. Stolen: CB radio, scanner, my first good banjo and fiddle, CDs and tapes, fishing equipment.
burglary: they caught 3 kids red-handed. I told the cops exactly how much money was taken and one of the kids had it on him, but the kid claimed it was his and they let him keep it. Or did they? I feel like I was robbed twice.
pickpocketed: clever crooks. in a grocery store, where one guy distracted me by grabbing the front of my cart and rolling it back and forth while staring at me, while another reached into my pocket and took my wallet. They work similar distraction techniques on the subway all the time, so be careful!
Armed robbery: at a mexican restaurant, a block from my house, I walked into the cafe' while the crooks had everyone in the basement at gunpoint. Their lookout called them up and I was promptly instructed to get on the floor and not look up by a guy with a really huge silver gun.
I think I can certainly empathize with other crime victims, like my guy tonight, but I guess the catch 22 is risking being a victim again.
Not this time. Here I safely sit, uneasy and sleepless at 4 a.m..
posted by steve rosen at 3:58 AM
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