Monday, April 24, 2006

From the department of really, really bad ideas

I found this in the “police blotter” section of my neighborhood newspaper:

March 27, 4:45p.m.
A female suspect approached a 69-year old man and offered to give him company and show him her breasts. The man accepted and the two went to the side of a building where the woman began performing oral sex on him. He then noticed that his wallet was missing. He confronted the woman about this and she jumped over a fence and ran off. The victim claims he had not been with a woman in eight years and that is why he accepted her proposition.

This caught my attention not only for the squalid drama of it all, but also because a little bit of information I didn’t include here makes clear that this incident more than likely happened in my alley, not fifty feet from my back door. And at rush hour. I very well could have happened past this whole sordid scene. I hope that, if I did, I would have come to the old codger’s aid. I hope I would have stood firm and said, “Ma’am, please take that out of your mouth and return the gentleman’s wallet. Because what you’re doing is just plain mean..” Although, I suppose that if I had done something like that, the guy would have attacked me. “What the hell are you doing, you rassing-frassing whippersnapper!” he’d shout, “This is all I’ve had in eight years! Get your punk patootie out of here!” And I couldn’t blame him. I mean, really, who am I to come barging in on his private moment? Honestly, I probably wouldn’t be able to tell if something fishy was going on between them. I mean, besides the inherent fishiness of a 69-year-old getting a blowjob in my alley in the middle of the afternoon, what evidence would I have that the poor bastard was getting taken? I doubt I would have actually seen her swipe the wallet and, even if I did, she might have just been keeping it for safekeeping. I certainly don’t think I’d linger there long enough for the whole tableau to start to make sense to me. I’d just glance over at the slurping noise in the shadows long enough to determine that, yes, something intimate was occurring over there. Then I’d hurry on my way, leaving the victim to be fleeced. Too bad for him. With any luck, however, he had a few minutes of fun before the whole “stole-my-wallet” business erupted.

I suppose this is a lesson to all of us men, young and old alike: if a strange woman ever approaches to you on the street, offering “company” and the chance to see her breasts, you probably ought to turn her down, no matter how long your dry spell’s lasted. It’s just safer that way.