A Run-in With The Law

I have heard that there is a huge cultural difference between California and New York. My first visit to New York proved that statement was true. I visited New York City in the spring of 2003 with the high school choir with whom I worked as an accompanist. They were touring New York and competing in a choral festival there. Some of the fun things we did there included shopping in SoHo and riding the subway.
My first experience on the subway was my introduction to New York hospitality. There were kiosks in the waiting area that dispensed subway tickets in packages of ten. Because each chaperone had charge of eight students, we thought it best to buy several packages and give everyone a ticket. As the first group moved through the turn style, the automatic ticket taker refused to take any more tickets after the first four. We soon discovered that the tickets were meant for one person to use ten times and not for ten people to use once. We had already purchased about eighty tickets so we decided to let the kids go through the turn style two or three at a time (which we could accomplish by having them walk very close together.) This seemed to work for the group and the majority of them went through and got on the subway.
I was in the last group and somehow, when it came my turn, I couldn’t squeeze in with the girls in front of me. Instead, I simply climbed over the bar. There were eight of us all together, and we walked toward the subway to take our short ride to SoHo when suddenly two police officers blocked our path. There was another person with them who pointed at me and several of the girls in my group and said,
“They are the ones! That one climbed over, and those ones squeezed through three at a time!”
The police officer said,
“It is against the law to jump the turn style, lady. We will have to take you down to the station.”
I was mortified!
“But officer,” I said, “we bought tickets for our whole group and the machine quit taking our tickets after the first few.”
“That is not my problem, lady. If you have a problem with the tickets, you have to talk to the cashier.”
I was beside myself. I looked at the officer and said,
“Please, sir. I am chaperoning these students and we are visiting from California. I didn’t know we were doing anything wrong.”
“This isn’t Disneyland, lady!” He barked. “I can take them all in too. The fine is $60 and a night in the county jail!”
One of the girls gasped, and another one started to cry.
“Could you give us a break, officer? We did pay for our passage, and they are just children.”
The officer pointed at me and said,
“They are not considered children in New York if they are over 14 years of age. They can still spend a night in jail.”
I was shaking from head to toe, and genuinely frightened of the prospect of going to jail. How would I explain to their parents that I was the reason their children were in jail?
The police officer seemed to realize that he had tortured me enough. He folded his arms across his chest, and looked at me sternly.
“This is New York City, and we have very strict laws regarding our subways. I don’t want to see you riding this subway again, is that clear?”
I nodded quickly and he responded,
“Now get out of here, before I change my mind.”
The girls and I couldn’t move fast enough. We jumped on the subway and were whisked away to SoHo. We huddled together for a few moments trying to calm our nerves.
When we arrived at our destination, I felt a great sense of relief. Little did I know, that I was about to experience New York City’s hospitality again. Many of the girls in the group were thrilled with the purses they could buy on the street in New York. I also found one I liked in the Louis Vitton store window, but it was four-hundred and fifty dollars. On the streets of SoHo there were venders with purses looking like the one I wanted, but not quite the same. I asked one of them how much they were. He told me that the purse was ten dollars.
I said, “I wish it was a Louis Vitton, I really like the real one better.”
The vendor looked around as if to make sure no one was watching. Then he said, “I have it. Forty-five dollars.
I bargained him down to thirty-two and he went to a windowless van that was parked nearby. When he emerged, he had a brown paper bag in his hand. Again, he looked around suspiciously, then put the brown package in my hand.
“Gimme the money, he said urgently, and don’t open it until you are at least a block away.”
I felt like I was buying drugs on the street. I began to walk away, and noticed that a uniformed policeman was watching me. He began to follow me. I slipped the bag inside my coat and made a beeline for the nearest restaurant. I slipped inside, and the policeman walked past. By this time, I had had enough of New York City streets. I brought the purse home, but only used it once. To this day, I can’t look at it without getting butterflies in my stomach and thinking of the time I almost got arrested, twice.