Ferry Grifting
Hot day. “Like Vietnam out there” my ex boss used to say and he should know since he served in Vietnam, early on too years before it became fashionable for the white middle class kids to take over dean’s offices and block up traffic and smoke a lot of dope and listen to self-indulgent jam bands in the name of levitating the Pentagon and bringing peace to the world and even more years before many of those white middle class kids became cocaine-addled white collar workers steering the American economy into oblivion while listening to lite-rock radio in their German cars.
So it was hot, we have established that fact.
I was sitting on the ferry in standard late-week pose: book in one hand, rapidly-warming beer in the other. I felt a touch on my wrist, the gentle touch of someone who knows you or thinks they do. Instantly annoyed but trying to hide it in case the face my eyes are about to meet belongs to someone near and dear, I look up.
It isn’t anyone I know. The face is attached to the head of a 300 lb plus black gentleman in a white T-shirt and denim shorts. The head sits atop a neck encircled by a silver chain with two objects dangling from it: a skull and a Darth Vader head. Nerd bling, I suppose.
The face speaks “Remember me?”
I stare, allowing the annoyance to creep into my expression. I don’t remember him.
“No.”
He laughs and breaks out into a grin even warmer than the stifling air “I didn’t think you remembered me. Security?”
Is he calling for backup? “Um”
“In the building.”
At this point it occurs to me that I’m either about to be scammed or this guy is crazy. Fortunately the boat has just docked and he has about 120 seconds to execute the grift so for entertainment purposes I play along.
“Which one?”
More laughter “Which one” he says in that you-should-know-better-tone like your mom used to use when you tried to bullshit her about where you really spent your allowance. “Which one you at?”
Good move. This guy’s like a psychic, making me feed him all the info.
“590?”
“That’s the one!” Bigger, even warmer smile.
“Oh yeah, I didn’t recognize you not in uniform”
”Yeah well you know, you heard about the thing with me having that argument with the supervisor and they sent me to court and now, now they got me on Prozac and my girl took my kids away and I’m fightin’ that.”
“Nah, I didn’t hear. Sorry about that, sounds like a real mess.”
“Yeah, so, you know, I’m doin’ what they tell me and tryin’ to get my job back and see my kids but you know, the Prozac make it tough.”
“You gotta do what you gotta do” I advise sagely.
“Yeah so, there’s this place, down the Village, West Village, yo, they help people like me out you know and I can stay there for only 20 bucks for a whole week.”
“Wow, cool” I say, deliberately ignoring the hint.
“Yeah, so, um, if there’s a way you could help me out….”
“Aw shit, man, sorry, I only got credit cards on me.”
I might has well have punched the poor guy in the stomach given the way his facial expression shifted. His chin dropped to his chest rattling the nerd bling dangling there and he made a sharp left pivot and walked off with the crowd. I sat there and took a last pull of tepid ale and yelled “Good luck though!” after him.
As I followed the last remnants of the crowd to the train, I felt a small twinge of guilt. After all, as events unfolded I realized almost immediately that I was going to use them for a story, and maybe I should’ve paid my would-be confidence man instead of taking the story for free. Then again, I’m giving the story away for free too. So fuck it, you ain’t paying me for this so I ain’t paying him. That’s life in the big city.
So it was hot, we have established that fact.
I was sitting on the ferry in standard late-week pose: book in one hand, rapidly-warming beer in the other. I felt a touch on my wrist, the gentle touch of someone who knows you or thinks they do. Instantly annoyed but trying to hide it in case the face my eyes are about to meet belongs to someone near and dear, I look up.
It isn’t anyone I know. The face is attached to the head of a 300 lb plus black gentleman in a white T-shirt and denim shorts. The head sits atop a neck encircled by a silver chain with two objects dangling from it: a skull and a Darth Vader head. Nerd bling, I suppose.
The face speaks “Remember me?”
I stare, allowing the annoyance to creep into my expression. I don’t remember him.
“No.”
He laughs and breaks out into a grin even warmer than the stifling air “I didn’t think you remembered me. Security?”
Is he calling for backup? “Um”
“In the building.”
At this point it occurs to me that I’m either about to be scammed or this guy is crazy. Fortunately the boat has just docked and he has about 120 seconds to execute the grift so for entertainment purposes I play along.
“Which one?”
More laughter “Which one” he says in that you-should-know-better-tone like your mom used to use when you tried to bullshit her about where you really spent your allowance. “Which one you at?”
Good move. This guy’s like a psychic, making me feed him all the info.
“590?”
“That’s the one!” Bigger, even warmer smile.
“Oh yeah, I didn’t recognize you not in uniform”
”Yeah well you know, you heard about the thing with me having that argument with the supervisor and they sent me to court and now, now they got me on Prozac and my girl took my kids away and I’m fightin’ that.”
“Nah, I didn’t hear. Sorry about that, sounds like a real mess.”
“Yeah, so, you know, I’m doin’ what they tell me and tryin’ to get my job back and see my kids but you know, the Prozac make it tough.”
“You gotta do what you gotta do” I advise sagely.
“Yeah so, there’s this place, down the Village, West Village, yo, they help people like me out you know and I can stay there for only 20 bucks for a whole week.”
“Wow, cool” I say, deliberately ignoring the hint.
“Yeah, so, um, if there’s a way you could help me out….”
“Aw shit, man, sorry, I only got credit cards on me.”
I might has well have punched the poor guy in the stomach given the way his facial expression shifted. His chin dropped to his chest rattling the nerd bling dangling there and he made a sharp left pivot and walked off with the crowd. I sat there and took a last pull of tepid ale and yelled “Good luck though!” after him.
As I followed the last remnants of the crowd to the train, I felt a small twinge of guilt. After all, as events unfolded I realized almost immediately that I was going to use them for a story, and maybe I should’ve paid my would-be confidence man instead of taking the story for free. Then again, I’m giving the story away for free too. So fuck it, you ain’t paying me for this so I ain’t paying him. That’s life in the big city.
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