Photo by John HoffAt the point where Washington Ave. SE starts to segue into University Ave. SE, there is a pocket of seediness near the blood plasma center, liquor store and--most especially--the Burger King establishment, which stays open all night and sometimes seems to double as a homeless shelter. Today...
...a young man attempted a desperate scam to procure two whopper junior sandwiches, and the foiled plot resulted in his arrest and the brief detention of his comrade.
The scheme went something like this. Burger Buddy One paid for two whopper juniors with cash from his pocket, then left the counter to run outside and take care of some business on the sidewalk which involved, it appeared, bills passing back and forth near the No. 16 bus.
"I'm with him," said Burger Buddy Two, still standing at the counter. "That's my homeboy." And Burger Buddy Two picked up the sandwiches when they were ready and went outside on the patio to eat.
Burger Buddy One now approached the counter, incensed. Why had his sandwiches been handed over to some other person? Why was this person now sitting outside, eating the sandwiches he, himself, had actually paid for? And look, here was his receipt.
"Talk to your friend," was the response. "He said he was with you."
"I don't gotta talk to him!" came the shouted reply. "What the (expletive) are you saying? Why I gotta talk to HIM when I PAID FOR THEM TWO WHOPPER JUNIORS? Now give me my food, b----."
He was told the police would be called if he didn't leave the counter. The response was to "go ahead, call the police. Call the police on YOURSELF, because you just ripped me off." He kept repeating the phrase, "You got it all twisted" and pleaded, "Why do you have to get it all twisted like that?"
This expletive-laced line of argument went on for quite some time, and Burger Buddy One refused to leave the counter area, loudly insisting he would indeed have his food which he bought and paid for. At one point, during my own transaction for a filet-o-fish sandwich meal, my order was almost mixed up with another order. Burger Buddy One immediately seized on the incident as rhetorical ammunition.
"Yeah, make sure you give HIM the right order! What the (expletive) do I have to do to get the food I paid for?"
Meanwhile, Burger Buddy Two was chowing down on the sandwiches in the patio area and, a couple of times, appeared to be laughing. It was pointed out to Buddy One that Buddy Two was laughing at him, and he was told, repeatedly, he should just leave and join his friend and stop insisting on two free sandwiches before he got arrested.
At one point, Buddy Two knocked on the window and gestured to Buddy One, who in return made an impatient gesture with his hand and scrunched his face into an irritated, desperate look as though to say, "Don't be acting like you're with me, or you'll blow the whole thing!"
When the police arrived there was very little said. I expected some kind of conversation about the basis of the disagreement, a rational analysis of the key assumptions underlying the delivery of the two sandwiches to the (alleged) comrade instead of the person who had, in fact, paid for the meal. There was none of that. The officer walked up to Burger Buddy One, grabbed his arm, and slapped him in cuffs.
The conversation with the manager was brief, and then Buddy One was led outside to the area where Buddy Two was sitting. Soon enough Buddy Two was also in handcuffs, his face in a look of dismay. The two were interviewed separately. At one point, Buddy Two was made to sit on the sidewalk near the squad car, and dropped his head in dismay and disbelief.
Eventually, Buddy Two was released and Buddy One was left in the back of the squad car. The officer who had searched Buddy One methodically wiped his hands with a Wet Nap, then tossed the used Wet Nap in a nearby industrial-sized dumpster piled high with debri.
Sitting in the front of the squad car, one of the officers held up a muffin--which he may have purchased at some point at the nearby Caribou Coffee establishment--and slowly, methodically, I would say LOVINGLY unwrapped the pastry in the front seat, while Buddy One sat in the back, burger-less and now, it would appear, also muffin-less.
The squad car drove away. Somewhere, quite nearby, the Virginia and Virgin Islands delegation were doing whatever it is delegates do during their lunch hour.
No comments:
Post a Comment