Unsafe New York: Part Twenty

AN EXAMPLE OF POLICE COMPASSION GONE WRONG IN THE WRONG DIRECTION:
It was November 19th and I was heading for a club. My friend was working there that night and after a hard day' work I looked forward to enjoying a couple of drinks, a dance or two with a pretty boy, and a good, solid sleep on my floor. I was looking forward to getting tired because this way I would have gotten the necessary sleep and rest, forgetting the pain of the floor, after so much tiredness. As I was walking down Park Avenue South, something caught my eye. It is hard to see in retrospective what exactly it was, but one thing is certain I ended up sketching a building on 19th street, seen on its side from Park Avenue South and 19th street corner.
Let me set up the setting so you see what has happened. There was a homeless couple on the corner. The woman, dejected and poor, was siting on the floor with a cardboard under her, hugging a neck of her dog. Both looked very sad, as is due, but sadness on anyone under these cicumstances is wrong. By her stood a sign, asking for money lest she and her dog perish from starvation. Her boyfriend - as it turns out to be later, he was her boyfriend, spoke harshly and negatively to her. He was accusing her of something, towering over her and calling her names, harassing her and making her feel worthless; the woman was crying and bitting her lip. Her entrie posture expressed utter grief and dejection. She hugged the silent dog closer and closer. The guy was eating ice cream - I think it was McDonalad's flury fury or something. I looked over a couple of times and unfortunately caught the guy's eye. Though with my sketch book and drawing, I was not protected from his abuse. As I was sketching the windows of the building, I felt someone approach to me and looked up. The guy now towered above me, with his disheveled beard and ice cream spoon in his mouth. "Get off my street" he suggested. Apparently he got insecure having someone present. So what, tough luck. Life goes on. I looked at him. "His" street? Meanwhile, he advised I do it sooner than later. As I continued calmly my drawing, he came up a few steps closer and suggestively pushed me towards the oncoming traffic."Sir, I am not leaving" responded I, managing to keep my perfect composure. Apprently this is how people were treated in America, in spite of all the profestations of enlightened democratic belief system. I was not done drawing, did not intend to leave my painting in the middle, and would not encourage such rudeness. When he made a few steps towards me, I moved over a little and added:"Not until I am done drawing." The guy stopped calling me a "whore" and a "bitch" and said, quietly: "what did you say?" He was truly displeased. I repeated to him my intention. "Oh no, you won't leave you fucking bitch? Ok, watch this". With this the guy tossed three spoon-fulls of flurry on my new leather coat. I guess this what means to make a solid suggestion. As I stood in shock, trying to clean off the sticky ice cream off my coat, the guy came up closer (he took a few steps back before to aim at me and get the hand space) and asked again: and how about now? I looked him straight in the eye and said: I am not leaving, not until I am done drawing. His bottom lip shook and he pushed me closer to the traffic. This is how insignificant males abuse females who have a lot more significance than them. And this is still allowed! He next grabbed my sketch book and threw it on the floor. "Oh yeah, drawing?" he inquired maliciously, with a twisted smile. I silently picked up my sketch book from the floor. I took my pen from my pocker where I put it for the duration of the "conversation". I went back to my sketching. At this point the guy run up to me and grabbed my sketch book for the second time! He tossed it into the garbage can that was at my back. He spat juicily at my neck. His saliva mixed in with his ice cream. If I was a "normal girl" who wore skirts, heels, bags and played into patriarchym I would have walked away. But I was a human being in a Democracy, minding my business, and now was unable to do that here. I looked at him. He was standing right on my right foot, smilling. "Get the fuck out of here, bitch." He said. His face contoured. "Fucking bitch" he added. This happened in the full light of the street, and no one did a thing. Apparently, Americans approve of this kind of behavior. I run up to the garbage to get my sketch book out, but the guy did not let me: he grabbed me to push me away from the garbage can! I took out my cell phone and started dialing the police. He hit my hand and knocked my cell phone out of my hand. I picked up my cellphone and said to the guy: I am calling the cops. You have no right, to push me, spit at me or command me to leave. You can't be throwing my things in the garbage either. "Don't you dare call the cops, whore" he said very calmly. He attempted to push me again but by then I have regained my senses and jumped back. "Go get her,... the bitch is calling the police," he respectfully addressed his significant other, whose name escapes me. "Do you want me to get locked up?" he added hurrying her up. "What?" was a sleepy at first, response. He finally roused her up and made her run after me. "Get the cell phone out of her hand" he commanded from the distance. The woman run after me. Like a zombie. Like a trained dog. She said: I will kill you if you calling the police right now.
I said: I am not dialing anyone.
She said: who are you dialing then?
I said: my friend. (Police IS my friend)
"Let me see, let me see now who you are dialing," she said. She was short, stocky, with big red hands.
I said: none of your business.
"What?" she yelled and turned to her boyfriend: what do I do and say now?
He gave her a silent nod. She pushed me off to the curb. She looked back to double check: like that? "Now, who are you calling?" inquired she again as she saw me trying to dial the number with my shaking hand whose fingers refused to move on the right buttons.
"Don't you be calling the police" she half-asked, half-suggested. I finally got away from my persecutor and crossed the street. While on the other side I have placed a call and reported what has happened. Half an hour later, languidly and relaxed, the police car has arrived. The officer exited the car, slowly slammed the door and immediately upon his approach attacked me for something nonsensical."You gave us wrong instructions," he said. "You were on the wrong corner," he aid. "No, I wasn't," I retorted. "I said I will be here and here I was all the time."
"No, you weren't," said the cop.
"Yes, I was," I explained.
He scratched his head and looked around. "Ehh, you were supposed to be on the 19th and park ave,right?" he asked now with some hesitation. I looked at the officer of law. I looked up at the sign above me: 19th and Park Avenue South. The policeman caught my eye. He said nothing. He sighted. Apparently they were all tired and overworked and underpaid and because of that people like us had to suffer. He asked me couple of irrelevant questions and very slowly took my report. The guy was so very gone by the time the police has arrived, it was not funny. I remember him finish eating his ice-cream, then with the same calm dispose of his empty ice cream container, wipe his hands on his coat, and walk away on Park Avenue South in an unknown direction.His girlfriend did not even bother to leave but just got her story polished. Thanks, people of my city for making it a safe place for artists and dreamers and people chilling out on the free time. Thanks a lot!