OK. That title has nothing to do with this post. I just like that quote and am feeling a little nihilistic at the moment. See, I got my wallet stolen last night. I have no identity and no money and some little shit is going around the city emptying out the contents of my wallet at video arcades. Bastard. I would be quite happy to piano wire the dude and leave his body along an empty highway in Queens, so maybe that title has something to do with this post.
I took the 11A bus into Manhattan at 3:00 on Saturday. I’m still sad it isn’t the 11D bus, because I like symmetry, but life doesn’t work that way. The plan was to meet up with a friend downtown for sushi and to discuss a research project.
I brought a bunch of reading for the bus and a folder of survey drafts. At the last minute, I shoved it all in an old black backpack. The black matched my outfit. The problem with the backpack is that the only pocket is on the outside, so I usually curl the backpack around to the front when walking around the city.
It was a tough week and the minute I got on the bus, I dozed. All the reading material in the backpack went unopened. One hour of zen on the Jersey turnpike past the swamps of the Meadowlands and the curve into the Lincoln Tunnel. We pulled into the bus terminal. I slung the backpack over my shoulder and took the escalator down two flights into the Port Authority.
Why I didn’t have the backpack curled around to the front like I usually do, I’m not sure. Maybe I lost my spidey sense after 9 months in the suburbs. Maybe I was still zoned out from the busride. But when I got down the escalator and walked towards the subway, I felt around for my wallet. It was gone. 60 seconds in Manhattan, and my wallet was swiped. I raced around looking for a guilty face. Nothing. I ran up the stairs to the bus, which was still there. Nothing on the bus. At some point during that frantic dash, I slammed my hand against a wall and now I was gushing blood.
Sitting in the police station, I called Steve who reported the cards lost. I canceled my plans with my friend and begged my way back on a bus to New Jersey. I wasn’t in the mood to discuss survey revisions.
Thinking about it, maybe I never had any spidey sense. This is the third time my wallet has been swiped in the city in twenty years. The first time was on Bleeker Street during my college years. The guy got $20 and a fake ID. The second time was the New York Public Library while I was absorbed with some microfiche for a grad school paper. That time I lost $40 and a school ID. This time, I lost a lot more.
After beating myself up for a while, I’ve become more philosophical. Losing your wallet is just part of the city experience. Just like getting crappy parking tickets and getting hassled by a homeless guy. The good and the bad travel closely together.
When I was nineteen, I saved up enough money from summer jobs to backpack through Europe with two friends. We went the economy route sleeping in hostels and train stations. We circuited through England, Ireland, France, and then used our Eurrail pass to go to Interlocken, Switzerland. The hostel in Interlocken was supreme and even attracted the wealthy kids whose parents sent them to Europe for finishing. In our train compartment was one of the rich kids. We struck up a conversation with her. She told us that her bag has just been swiped on the train while she slept. She lost a top of the line camera, hundreds of dollars, and a train pass. Our mouths gaped open. A loss like that would have wiped us out and forced us on the next plane home in disgrace.
Was she angry, we asked her. Surprisingly, no. She said that she hoped that her bag was able to help out someone needier than herself. Maybe she was an especially saintly rich girl. Maybe a major loss for us was only a minor loss for her. I’m not sure.
I am not feeling so generous towards my thief. This wasn’t a major loss. We’re doing fine right now. But still, we worked hard for that money. I also know from the fraud department at VISA that the thief used my credit card to buy $100 worth of tokens at a video arcade not to buy dinner for a hungry family. Piano wire for him.
Apt. 11d 
Gah. Yes — theft from desperate need for sure. (I didn’t know that arcades took credit cards for payment. I guess I’m just that naive.)
Sorry to hear about that!
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So sorry about what happened! I’m glad you realized it so quickly, at least. And it reminds me to be more careful about my subway dozing.
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When my debit card was stolen last year, it was used at a grocery store and a Burlington Coat Factory. Not exactly Nieman Marcus and the Palm. I guess I need to be more like the saintly rich girl. After all, the bank credited my account the amount of the fraudulent charges.
But I’m still pissed.
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Ouch. At least you can console yourself with the fact that someday whoever did this will be dead. No one gets away with anything in the end. Mors omnia vincit.
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Wow, such a culture of life!
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I had my whole bag stolen last year. With a hard-to-find book inside it that no thief could possibly want. I just kept wondering why he had to swipe the whole damn bag, rather than just the wallet, which would actually be useful to him.
When I reported it to the police, the cop at the desk asked me if I had enough money to get home. Which is probably standard procedure, but I found it strangely touching nonetheless.
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What frustrated us when Melissa’s wallet was stolen was that the thief was applying for store credit cards all over the goddamn city, so we got calls asking us for confirmation. In one case, the thief (or a proxy) was standing right there, apparently, so we asked them to call the police and detain the person. The bored credit-check person at the particular chain store said, “Sorry, that’s not my job,” and hung up. In one case, the store actually accepted the credit card application and allowed the person to order stuff for delivery, and then called us because their computer noticed a discrepancy of some kind. We called the Philly police to point out that the thief had ordered goods sent to a concrete address, which appeared to a residential address in the city, and maybe this was a great chance to nab somebody for having stolen the wallet and commited identity fraud. The Philly cop who took the call basically said that he didn’t see the point to pursuing the case, that it wasn’t worth the force’s time, and to just change all our credit information and not worry about it.
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“In one case, the thief (or a proxy) was standing right there, apparently, so we asked them to call the police and detain the person. The bored credit-check person at the particular chain store said, ‘Sorry, that’s not my job,’ and hung up.”
That blows my mind, Tim. When I worked retail, I would have loved to have gotten a call like that. Anything to distract from just punching buttons over and over.
Sorry about the theft, Laura. It’s such a pain. We’ve had to change our credit and debit card information more times than I can count.
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NYPD wasn’t very concerned with my plight either. They didn’t even want me to use their bathroom to wash off my hand, which was bleeding. Whatever. It’s infuriating, Tim, that your cops showed so little interest in catching the thief.
Last time I got my wallet stolen, after the first shopping spree on my credit cards subsided, they started using my ID to get instant credit around the city. I put a permanent fraud alert on my name and that stopped activity.
I’m sorry that pick pockets have hit all of you, but I’m glad that I’m not the only silly, trusting soul out there.
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