I Got Robbed. Seriously.

La Mère Gaucher is in town and she wanted to do some thrifting. She likes the la-di-da places and I like the gutter, but luckily, this neighborhood I know, called FoCo, has the whole spectrum–from the designer shit at the City Opera Thrift Shop to the sketchy delights of the Salvation Army.

We were at the Housing Works and I tried on a bunch of stuff that didn’t suit me. I put it back on the racks and sat down for a moment to fix my boot. I realized I left my purse in the dressing room and went back and knocked on the door. I had probably been gone around 35 seconds.

Unfortunately, the store weirdo was now occupying the dressing room. I had noticed her earlier–who wouldn’t?–in a bizarre red cape get-up, with a black shawl on her head. Her face was peculiarly wet.

When she didn’t answer the knock I got a bad feeling. It took another round of knocking and asking and then a pretty long wait before she handed the purse under the stall door. I wanted to check the contents right away but I felt like the other ladies waiting around for a dressing room would judge me for being suspicious.

I walked away and looked in the purse. My snap-shut wallet was open. And empty. I froze: there had been a bunch of cash in there, right? Everything else was there–phone, notebook, make-up, credit cards.

Bitch had stolen my money. I couldn’t figure out what to do. La Mère Gaucher was at the register, and I explained what happened. “But how could I prove it?” I asked. “All she has to do is deny it.” Just then, the thief went by, heading for the door. She was booking. I watched her walk past. I watched her stop by bag check and get her bag. I watched her leave the store. And I stood there and I didn’t do anything.

I wanted to grab her arm and hiss, “I know what you did. You know what you did. And God knows what you did.” I wanted to detain her at the bag check and say, “It’s awesome that you stole from me!” I wanted to make a big scene and shout, “THIEF! THIEF!” But I didn’t do any of those things.

Because because because because because!

I doubted myself. A voice in my head said, What if it’s not true? even though I knew I had a bunch of ones, a five, and either two or three twenties in my wallet. Maybe you left the money on the kitchen table. As we left the store I was angrier with myself than I was with her, more disappointed in myself than I was with the flaccid morals of humanity at large.

MOTHERFUCKING DOUBT, MAN! I felt like shit. I couldn’t snap out of it. What kind of an asshole doesn’t stick up for themselves when they know it’s right? Who stands there like a willing victim while their thief prances past? Who effectively declares to the world, I am a fool?

We went to the next store. But I no longer had the heart for thrifting. Instead I borrowed a dollar from my mother and went to the Chinese bakery across 23rd street. I ate a coconut bun, which is the most delectable thing ever invented in the history of the universe. I gobbled it right up. I could’ve eaten a dozen, but I only had the one dollar.

by Left Hook | 3 May 2007 | assholes | Comments