Street Smarts: Another H.Schiddy "BEST OF"

Street Smarts

A little introspection was needed. I was walking to my car downtown after work last winter, and this guy about my age and height walked up to me. He said he had got a flat tire and did not have enough cash to pay the mechanic. His wife had all his credit cards and could he borrow $5 from me to pay the mechanic -he needed to get out to Plymouth by 5:30pm. Could I loan him five more bucks? He took my business card and said he would pay me back. It turns out all I had on me was a 10 spot so I gave it to him. As soon as the paper left my fingers warning sirens and bright flashing sign was going off in my head. What
was it flashing? A big read neon sign flashing SUCKER in big red letters.

When I told my tale to Mrs. Schiddy that night, she shook her head at me in disbelief. I myself was at loss to explain my momentary lapse of "street smarts." Was it my upbringing in lily-white Rochester? Perhaps a few too many raps to the head in my younger and more reckless days? Or a sincere heart felt belief that as a former scout I should "Do a good turn daily." Well I got a good turn all right.
So as I did a little introspective reflection in retrospection I realized this was not the first time I had a lapse in judgment like this. Those of you who know me pretty well may be familiar with some of these incidents, but let’s review a couple of them for those who are not in the know.

1. Back in my high school days, my dad and I went to see a Twins game together at the Dome. The dome was only a couple years old at that time, so my dad was less than sure of his way around being the Rochester boy that he was, and must have figured, 'let the boy drive.' I said I would drive home, no problem. Some how, though, I got my 4th Street mixed up with my 6th and 8th streets, missed a turn off, and ended up driving down the one way street that the Cabooze and Whiskey Junction were on. As I slowly drove down the two blocks to a dead end past rows and rows of Harley Davidson Motorcycles, my dad kind of got this pained look on his face. When we got to the end of the street and saw there was no room to turn around without hitting a motorcycle and possibly knocking down a few dozen motorcycles with a domino affect, my dad suggested that maybe he should drive. Luckily nobody wearing leather named Tiny groomed with a ZZ top beard was heading out of the bar as my dad took over for me and gingerly maneuvered the car out of their.

2. As a college junior I wanted to go see My Life as a Dog at the U Film Society's Bell Auditorium. It was right across the street from the house where I lived. Finding no one who wanted to see that movie, I went by myself. As the movie played, I noticed a middle aged man sitting alone in the theatre, who kept moving closer and closer to me.
"Hmm," I thought, "maybe he is just trying to get a better view.”
When he moved one seat away from me, I thought that was a little uncomfortable, but I was trying to watch the movie and figured he was not hurting anything. Then he moved right next to me and immediately put his arm around me. Now I'm not homophobic, but I gotta tell ya that was about as creeped out as I have ever felt.
I jumped up and very loudly yelled, "NO" right in the man's face. He immediately got up and without a word left the theatre (I wonder if he got his money back), and after I few seconds I settled down and watched the rest of the movie.

3. Five years ago I am jogging on the sidewalk across the street from Longfellow Park in South Minneapolis. I see three 15 years old male youths on the other side of the street just kind of hanging out. No threat to me right? I cross the street just up the block from them and run right through their little group, saying "hi guys."
Instead of replying,” I Mr. Nice Jogger man, nice evening isn't it," one of them stuck out his foot and I went flying. When I hit the ground I am getting kicked in the head and gut, and one of them is trying to go through my empty jogging shorts for money... I guess. Finding nothing they yell something to me about staying off their turf, and then take off running. I was O.K., but as I limped home I thought of a good epitaph for my tombstone if they had in fact done me in. It could read: 'Mistakes Were Made.'

There are probably some other stories, but you get the idea. So upon introspection after that $10 sting job I vowed to be a little bit wiser in the future. Months past, and then yesterday, lo and behold, my friend with the flat tire appeared with another hard luck story. This time he had a parking ticket he had to get paid and he was embarrassed to say he had not brought enough cash with him and I could please loan him $6 dollars this time so he could pay it and avoid a late charge. Apparently he did not remember that he had already solicited my assistance during the winter. When I asked him if he got his flat tire fixed, he did kind of get a funny look on his face. When I asked him when he could pay back the $10 he owed me, he got a kind of scary look on his face, and then took off quickly away from me. I did not bother to ask him if he had lost my business card. As I finished my walk to my car, I thought of a new epitaph should I get run over crossing the street. Now it could read: "Here lies Hank, he was a work in progress." Or as others might say "He was a piece of work."

Schiddyout

P.S. Kick the Can Redux.
Remember my Schiddy rant last month about Kick The Can, back in the Rochester days? Shortly after I wrote that, I decided to join my kids in a game of kick the can, and ended up pulling my calf muscle. I was on crutches for a few days and still can't run yet. I will rehab it though, and defend my tittle (now held by 11 year old Schidlet Valerie) as the world’s best Kick the Can player.

Schiddyreallyout