4.3 Time Moves Forward

NATURAL DISASTERS

I was sitting in S███’s office when the shaking started, and  S███ was eating lunch in the kitchen. We discussed what it could be: not, it became clear, the neighbors walking up the stairs. A crane across the way might have been the culprit, except there is no reason for a crane to cause the building to sway (I think I made a wrecking ball joke). I looked out the window, but people on the street seemed to be walking along normally, though S███ said she spotted a man sitting on a stoop looking confused. It was all very surreal (I was under the impression that earthquakes just don’t happen in New York). Not until S███’s father sent her an “Are you okay, there was an earthquake” text did we have an answer, though if he had waited 30 more seconds I would have seen it on my work Twitter account (which was blowing up, Ke$ha-style).

The office. Luckily it was a minor earthquake, or I would have been crushed by a tub of power tools. If there was a God who loved humanity, He would have caused an earthquake strong enough to toss Tavin (bottom center) out of the window and in front of a Mack truck while sparing all other living beings.

It happens that I grew up on the Alabama coast, so I have lost the fear of God with regard to hurricanes. Irene was a bummer because they closed public transportation about 16 hours in advance of the hurricane, thus preventing me from going to the party that was one of the main reasons for my visit to New York in the first place. It happened during the night: mainly a lot of wind and rain. There was some minor flooding nearby and uprooted trees blocking roads toward the Park Slope area. It so happens that Sara’s neighborhood was not a flood risk, but even if it was, I would not have left.

ALSO, DAVE & BUSTERS IN TIMES SQUARE

Late that Thursday, S███ dragged me to the Dave & Buster’s in Times Square that is open past midnight. Dave & Buster’s is an adult-oriented arcade space that sells $10 Bud Lights. It is located a floor above the infamous Times Square Applebee’s. To annoy her I kept saying things like, “Is that the Empire State Building?” and “Is this Times Square?” in exactly the tone and volume an actual curious tourist would use. We spent all our tickets on Wonka candy. Afterward she dragged me to the Forever 21 that is open past midnight in Times Square. There were some French women there, one of whom was wearing white canvas shoes.

WHAT AM I READING RIGHT NOW?

Well, since you asked, I am on a huge Kenzaburo Oe kick. Oh man, also, have any of you read The Master and Margarita? It was so good. I wasn’t expecting it to be so good.

THE BIKE LOCK SAGA

Don’t get me started; don’t even get me started! I locked my super-rad orange road bike (you know, whatever) at a parking meter outside of Starbucks, where I was meeting So███ so we could work together (we both “work from home”). Once the day was done, I went back to my bike, only to discover that I didn’t have my keys in any of my four pants pockets, two jacket pockets, or five backpack compartments. I retraced my steps with So███: Starbucks, Chipotle, CVS, but was unable to find what I was searching for. In the Chipotle a solicitous individual volunteered his girlfriend’s (?) bike keys. Apparently, U-locks are so generic that you can often use random keys to unlock one. I tried, and in fact the woman’s key opened one of my locks. Unfortunately, I always use two, which meant my bike was still locked to the meter.

After a grumpy weekend of me idly wondering if I could borrow an angle grinder or perhaps use a two-by-four to pop the lock, I google “how to break a u lock” and discover a video showing a guy popping a lock in two minutes using a car jack. I’m sitting across from So███ when I learn about this, so I lean forward and ask her if she has a car jack I can borrow. She texts A███, and he drives over to pick her up and brings the jack. I expect the operation to take ten minutes, but it does not. In fact, the jack gets stuck on the lock, and it takes me maybe fifteen minutes of peeling away the lock’s rubber coating to free it. A███ and So███ leave while I keep trying. There are two American Red Cross canvassers on the sidewalk, and I listen to them pitching the whole time I try to pop my lock. Whenever there were joggers, the canvassers would say, “What are you running from?!” which I thought was kind of funny. The female canvasser was friendly to me: whenever I pried the car jack off, she would say, “Did you get it!!??” and I’d be like, “Ha, ha!! No. Oh my God, close though.”

After an hour of laboring clumsily over a car jack on a bike that keeps rolling around, one starts to feel like a right fool.

Christ Bananas, the effort this production took.

Finally, it happens. The lock comes off. Unfortunately, I rendered the front derailleur janky in the process of wrestling with the bike lock. So I walked my bike to a bike shop. I was very anxious, because I was wearing a particularly appropriated-bike-culture outfit (slim-fit jean shorts rolled just so at the cuffs, Brooklyn Industries polo shirt, Adidas Sambas with no socks), and was afraid the bike shop guys would hurt my feelings. But they were friendly enough, and fixed the front derailleur for free (it had only been knocked askew). Unfortunately, I also had somehow messed up the chain wheel in a way that would “run [me] about $100 to fix.” So from now on, I can only use the smaller front gear. Anyway.

On the bright side, looking for my spare bike keys, I found my long-lost eyeglasses rolled up in an air mattress.

HOW DID I GET SO BAD

 A█████ texts me and I say I’ll be there soon but I end up watching internet videos for half an hour before leaving. When I arrive, he is doing some bike maintenance. I sit there being empty-headed for a while. Av███ comes and sits next to me, but then he goes off somewhere. Later A█████ and I are grocery shopping. I pick up a tin of anchovies and say, “Anchovies are so expensive,” and he says, “Just put it in your pocket.”

Later, we walk to the pond and stash our stuff by the boathouse. I throw my wallet into a bush. A█████ says, “You just had to bring swim shorts that look like boxers.” When we get to the beach, there are some people there, but we figure they won’t care. The water is cold, but not so cold, and we walk in slowly until the water is navel height and then plunge in. The only building visible above the trees has most of its windows lit, and we swim in its direction, instead of directly toward the boathouse. I am an extremely weak swimmer and pretty much spend the entire time gasping and doggy-paddling. A█████ says, “Do you know the breast-stroke?” and I say, “I only know how to freestyle. But I have my contacts in.”

NEVER HAVE I FELT SO AMERICAN

J███ and Ar████ are going to IKEA, so I hitch a ride. We enter gridlock, and finally decide we have to stop and eat. We consult the telephone to see if there are any Chik-Fil-As around, but they are all either north or west of Boston Proper. We end up going to a Chipotle in an outlet mall. We talk about Chipotle: how it’s too bad David Foster Wallace passed, because now he can’t write an essay about eating Chipotle burritos in an outlet mall. I get a red chest of drawers and a black bookcase. When I tell S███ that I got a red chest of drawers, she says that that’s what men do: they get red things for their bedrooms, because they think that things in bedrooms should be red. They just don’t know any better.

WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO WITH YOUR LIFE

I’m going to get what I want.

3.6 Alexander spends fifteen terrifying minutes with an Eastern European sex slave

Toward the end of my two-week stint in Istanbul (which would be just about the perfect city if everyone spoke French), I was walking in Sultanahmet on a sidewalk by the sea. On one side of the sidewalk is a highway, on the other side (with a drop of a couple feet) is a short shore of boulders from which old men sometimes fish and where families sometimes have picnics.

As I walked, a man sitting on the rocks called out to me. He invited me to join his group, and I did. They were all nicely dressed and in their twenties. The guy who called to me (who was Turkish) talked to me in okay English while the other two (a Cypriot and his Russian girlfriend) talked to each other in a language I didn’t understand, sometimes chiming in in English to me. They were drinking beer and offered one to me. The conversation was pretty dull–he kept on saying, “Tomorrow it’s work again, but today I can enjoy myself. Drinking beer, sitting at the ocean, talking to people we meet,” and things along those lines. I stuck it out since I was talking to a local, which is part of what traveling is all about (I wasn’t particularly scintillating either, to be fair). They offered me hash, but I declined (obviously).

After a while the guy said, “Hey, we’re going to go to Taksim Square [the main bar/club district in Istanbul] and smoke hookah. Join us!” Though I imagine that it’s going to be really dull, I agree, just because I don’t want to be the guy who spent his time in Istanbul declining social invitations extended by friendly locals.

So we get into a taxi, go to Taksim Square, and go into this really seedy hole-in-the-wall labeled “DISKOBAR” or something. It’s a dark, tiny club with terrible remixes playing. We sit at a booth (one of the two). The Turk tells me to sit in the middle, but somehow I end up on the edge seat. Under the shoddy pretext that he wants to put his arm up on the booth’s backrest without making me uncomfortable, he then insists on switching places with me, and I end up in the middle. They ask me what I want to drink–I wasn’t planning to drink, but to be game I say beer.

Suddenly two women appear. They put out their hand to all four of us in turn, and we shake. One sits next to me, the other next to the Turk. My new companion introduces herself to me and asks, “May I drink something?”

By this time I’m pretty sure what’s going on. I’d in fact read the wikitravel warning about it just a few days earlier, reproduced here in its entirety (feel free to skim/skip it):

Taksim bar/club scams

Tourists must be aware of high-drink prices scams encountered in so-called night-clubs mostly located in Aksaray, Beyazit and Taksim areas. These clubs usually charge overpriced bills, based on a replica of the original menu, or simply on the menu that had been standing upside down on the table.

Also be aware of friendly behaving groups of young men or male-female couples striking up a conversation in the street and inviting you to a “good nightclub they know”. This has frequently been reported as a prelude to such a scam. The person(s) in on the scam may offer to take you to dinner first, in order to lower your suspicions. Another way they will try to lure you in is by talking to you in Turkish, and when you mumble back in your language they will be surprised you’re not Turkish and immediately will feel the urge to repay you for their accident with a beer.

In either of these scams, if you refuse to pay the high prices or try to call the police (dial #155) to file a complaint, the club managers may use physical intimidation to bring the impasse to a close.

A recently encountered variant of this involved an invitation in Taksim to two male tourists (separately, within an hour of one another) to buy them beer (as they were “guests”). At the club, two attractive ladies, also with beers, joined them. When the time came for the bill, the person inviting the tourist denied having said he would pay for the drinks, and a bill was presented for 1500 Lira; when the tourists in question expressed an inability to pay such a high amount, burly “security” personnel emerged, who the manager explained would accompany the tourist to an ATM machine (presumably to clean out their bank account). In one of the above examples, the tourist escaped by shouting for the police once on the street; in the other, a much lower amount was accepted from the tourist.

Another recent incident occurred at a bar/club named SIA, located near the intersection of Acara and Istiklal Streets. 3 tourists were approached by 2 men, asking them to go for “drinks together”. The tourists were led by the men into the club named SIA (these three letters appear in silver beside the club’s entrance), and ordered drinks. Later, some ladies working for the club joined the group and ordered drinks, which the club put on the tabs of the 3 tourists. Overall, they were cheated of over 600 Lira. The original bill was much higher, and the tourists suffered verbal and physical intimidation when they did not have enough money to pay up. Finally the people at the club gave up and let them go. Travelers should avoid the above-mentioned club, for their own safety.

All these point to these scams in Taksim becoming more serious, and the possible involvement of organized crime. Be careful. If you find yourself in a situation for any reason, do whatever they want you to do, pay the bill, buy the things they are forcing you to buy, etc. Try to get out of situation as soon as possible, go to a safe place and call the police (dial #155).

That said, sometimes there is a chance to run, such as a case in August, 2009, when a man was able to escape. His sudden leave may have caught the waiters off guard; in all hastiness they forget to put someone at the door, thus leaving an opening.

I said yes to the escort’s request, since I realize that a no would be totally unacceptable. I was incredibly (and quite obviously) nervous, thinking ways out of this, and meanwhile the escort kept toasting me (maybe five times) and trying to strike up conversation. The closest we had to a conversation was her asking me where I am from, me answering, and then asking her where she is from. She said, “Turkey,” in a strong Eastern European accent, and I go silent, looking around like a scared rabbit. (One serious social flaw I need to work on: the inability to hide when I’m uncomfortable in social situations).

By the time I finished one beer each of the escorts had drunk two tiny bottles of champagne. As I finish I say something like, “Hey guys, I think I’m going to go as soon as I finish this beer.” Suddenly everyone gets really cold, and the Turk says, “Well, okay. Let’s just split the bill and you can go.” He opens the menu that was on the table and says, “Oh, look–it seems your friend’s drinks were 240 TL each [~$150]”

So the bill comes. It’s the equivalent of $800. They show me my share.  About $350.

I know that you are thinking: That Alex is a real numbskull. I would have spotted such a scam from miles away! How could he have been so blind? I wonder what he looks like in a swimsuit. Most of the people I’ve told about this seem to think that they would have smelled it a thousand miles away. In my defense, by the time it was clearly a scam there was no smooth way out of it (barring, what, screaming “I’m leaving right now!” as the escort sat down? That itself could have been dangerous). Also, the weird vibes I got from the very beginning I chocked up to my indifference to meeting new people/a mundane social unease. It’s not like I’m totally dense. Plus I think I handled it pretty well in the end.

As soon as they show me the bill, I start feeling out a way to get out of the club (as literally everyone in the club was in on the scam, and I didn’t anticipate being able to just run out). I was kind of evasive about the types of credit cards I had until I ascertained that they didn’t have a credit card machine. Then I acted like I didn’t understand them and said that, while I didn’t have cash, I could easily pay with my card (I asked if the credit machine was a the bar). Also, throughout the entirety of it (after the bill came), I acted mildly put-out but overall submissive. I figured bellowing “I WILL NOT PAY ONE RED CENT” wouldn’t do me any favors, while acting too happy about it all would seem suspicious.

I said I was going to use the restroom. I locked myself in and put my cards and ID in my sock. I had 30 lira in cash on me (~$20), and I left it in my wallet as not to seem too suspicious. The kitchen area was being guarded by a guy, so I couldn’t bolt through there.

So I went back up, told them that all I had was 20 lira (that’s how stingy I am: I wasn’t willing to part with the extra $7, in case they wanted it up front). I said that they should let me go to the ATM to withdraw some money. The guy acted annoyed and got a big thug to escort me to the ATM outside.

I was afraid he’d lead me to an alley or something, but instead we walked up a street toward the main pedestrian road, which was really crowded. I tried to scout for the best place to bolt without looking too obvious about it, and then I did (bolt, that is), as the thug crossed ahead of me in the opposite direction. He said something that sounds like “Oh shh–,” and I was gone. I dodged around people and nearly mowed this woman over. I don’t know if he followed me, or for how long, as I didn’t look back until much later. I sprinted until I couldn’t sprint anymore than then just jogged. Luckily I knew the general direction to my hostel, and it was all downhill.

So I got off scot free–I even got two beers out of the ordeal (HUSTLA TIL THE DAY I DIE YALL). Apparently another guy in my hostel got the same scam two days later, and they cleared him out $300 or so. Seriously, stinginess is my superpower. Though I feel bad gloating too much, as the real victims (obviously) are the two escorts.