Ahh, life in the big city...
Be careful when you're riding your bike at night, folks. Forthwith, a letter I just submitted to the Portland Mercury's "I, Anonymous" column (which, for you out-of-towners, is pretty much just what it sounds like):
To the would-be thug teenager who pulled me off my bike on Fremont street last night:
While I will give you and your friends props for your rudimentary tactical skills in the predationary arts, I'm a little disappointed in your follow-through. I would have thought that while yelling "You got money? You got money bitch?" while holding your foster parents' house keys to my head, you might have had the wherewithal to actually steal something from me. Say, my bike (worth about a grand). Or my messenger bag ($450 waterproof/breathable shell inside; the rainy season is coming, you know). Or at least my wallet ($16 and half a book of stamps. By the way, it's not hard to find. I keep it in my back pocket, approximately midway between my right shoulderblade and my right calf). That's $1469.70! Not bad for less than a minute's work. If you extrapolate that into a yearly salary, it works out to... well, a lot of money! But in the thirty seconds or so it took for my friend's hollering to summon some passersby, you managed to get...nothing. Now I'm sure you're good kids just out for some laughs, but if you keep up this hooliganish behavior, you will wind up in prison at some point, and what will you have to show for it? Not my bike, not my waterproof/breathable shell, not even my stamps. You'll have eight inches of throbbing repeat offender lust pumping you full of all manner of nasty diseases in the prison laundry room, that's what you'll have. I, on the other hand, will have my bike, my waterproof/breathable shell, and my wallet (although I'm sure I will have burned through the stamps by this point). All $1469.70 of it. And my freedom. Your future looks pretty bleak. Savor every second of it.
To the would-be thug teenager who pulled me off my bike on Fremont street last night:
While I will give you and your friends props for your rudimentary tactical skills in the predationary arts, I'm a little disappointed in your follow-through. I would have thought that while yelling "You got money? You got money bitch?" while holding your foster parents' house keys to my head, you might have had the wherewithal to actually steal something from me. Say, my bike (worth about a grand). Or my messenger bag ($450 waterproof/breathable shell inside; the rainy season is coming, you know). Or at least my wallet ($16 and half a book of stamps. By the way, it's not hard to find. I keep it in my back pocket, approximately midway between my right shoulderblade and my right calf). That's $1469.70! Not bad for less than a minute's work. If you extrapolate that into a yearly salary, it works out to... well, a lot of money! But in the thirty seconds or so it took for my friend's hollering to summon some passersby, you managed to get...nothing. Now I'm sure you're good kids just out for some laughs, but if you keep up this hooliganish behavior, you will wind up in prison at some point, and what will you have to show for it? Not my bike, not my waterproof/breathable shell, not even my stamps. You'll have eight inches of throbbing repeat offender lust pumping you full of all manner of nasty diseases in the prison laundry room, that's what you'll have. I, on the other hand, will have my bike, my waterproof/breathable shell, and my wallet (although I'm sure I will have burned through the stamps by this point). All $1469.70 of it. And my freedom. Your future looks pretty bleak. Savor every second of it.
posted by Tommy at 1:42 AM
1 Comments:
Glad you had a friend with you and that you are OK and didn't lose anything. Good letter!
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