EDP or con artist

Rather than leave comments on their excellent blogs, I'll opine here and mention a couple of anecdotes.

First a comment: When a person is actually crazy, it might not be a good idea to call them crazy within their hearing. This is why, for example, the New York City Police Department uses the term "EDP" when discussing an EDP within earshot of an EDP. (A news cameraman once told me that years ago the police used the term "psycho"--which had about as much calming effect in tense situations as throwing gasoline on a fire.)

O.K., another comment: The actresses involved don't comment on the acting ability of the crazy lady. I don't think the lady was crazy; I suspect she was pulling off some kind of con. She might also have had a confederate who kept him- or herself unnoticed. Cons that have been attempted on me (and people I know) often begin with some kind of violation of a social norm (personal space, for example). The person pulling the con might be annoying or "crazy" or "helpful" or in need of help in some weird way. Sometimes the annoying or "crazy" behavior is merely a distraction to facilitate pickpocketing by a confederate. If you have ever experienced this weirdness, it's like being in a twisted parallel universe. I'll cite two instances (I could cite more, but I'm prone to longwindedness enough as it is.)

Anecdote 1: One morning as I headed down into my subway stop (79th and Broadway) I saw a man reeling down the steps ahead of me. At 8:30 in the morning he looked totally drunk. Or perhaps he had a medical condition that made it difficult for him to control his nerves or his muscles. I headed down the stairs, passing him with plenty of clearance. One of his flailing hands lightly flailed me as I passed. And I heard a plastic sounding clatter and saw that he had dropped the pair of glasses he had been holding. My inclination is to let strange drunks deal with their own problems. People who a mentally or physically challenged resent help if they perceive it as condescension. I kept moving, entered the turnstile, and took my usual place along the platform.

Mr. Drunk was not one bit drunk when he caught up with me on the platform about 45 seconds later. He was a lot younger than me, bigger, and stronger--and the muscle or nerve condition that caused him to teeter perilously as he descended the stairs a minute before was gone. He was rock steady.

"You made me drop my glasses!" he said, holding the sleeve of my coat. "And you broke them," he said, holding them up so I could see the crack in one of the lenses.

This being New York, we were--apparently--invisible on the crowded morning rush-hour platform.

"I'm sorry," I said. By the way, I wear glasses. I am hopelessly nearsighted without them. Now maybe this guy usually carries his reading glasses loosely in his swinging hands while he walks down subway stairs during rush-hour--or maybe he doesn't. One thing is clear, he was able to find me without putting them on. And another thing, his hand flailed at me on those stairs. He knocked his own glasses out of his hand

"What're you gonna do about it!" the guy said.

"I'm sorry," I repeated. I have never been a person who thinks on my feet. He was a pretty tough guy and I'm thinking, He's not going to take a swing at me on a crowded subway platform is he? I hope he's heard the thing about not hitting someone wearing glasses. My train came. I slid onto it and the guy did not pursue me.

Once the train doors shut, I saw him *run* out of the subway exit. My conclusion: It was a con (shakedown really). Most wimps like me would've have given him $10 or $20 and apologized and counted our blessings that we didn't get punched.

When I got to my office I called my precinct. They couldn't care less and didn't even suggest I come in and fill out a report.

On an evening six months later, as I walked down Broadway I saw the guy again. In the light of the Pricewise window his hand winged out and brushed against my coat. I heard the hollow clack of the glasses hitting the sidewalk. I kept walking as if I was oblivious. He didn't pursue me this time. I didn't bother calling my local precinct.

Anecdote 2: A Japanese friend of mine bought lunch as a busy McDonald's in the Times Square area. As she made her way up the stairs with her tray of food a nice teenage girl coming down the stairs said "Oh, let me help you. Your tray is going to tip." And the nice girl rearranged the drinks on the tray and went on her way. That was all the time it took for another nice girl, coming up the stairs behind my friend, to steal her wallet out of her purse and head off into the crowds flowing through Times Square at lunchtime.

So, all you helpful people, people in need, and attention-demanding crazies, BACK OFF! This is New York.