What to do when confronted with suspicious package
Beautiful spring day an a corner in lower Manhattan.
Yours truly has finished her double americano and goes to throw away the coffee cup. (yes, yes, lets deal with the environmental aspect of that later).
In the trash she notices a large brown package. Wrapped in brown paper, with no addressee, no stamps, no nothing.
It looks like The Brown Package that has blown up countless buildings, modes of transportation and innocent bystanders in movies, TV-series and various semi-readable books.
I stop in my tracks and stare when two men approach me. One of them is older and walks with great difficulty, let's call him The Gentleman. The other one looks like your typical Lower East Side middle aged man; tank top fitting snuggly over a protruding stomach, basket ball shorts and a baseball cap on back wards. When he speaks it is clear that dental hygiene is not something he worries about. Lets call him Challenges Rational Explosion Tactics In NYC, or CRETIN for short.
I have just stepped back from the package, when CRETIN notices it, walks over and picks it up.
that's right.
Then he shakes it.
Yes.
Grateful that I'm still alive and in a totally un-New York savvy manner I initiate a conversation.
FridgeGal: Hey, I don't think you should touch the package. We should call the cops.
CRETIN: Why?
Gentleman: Yeah, man, don't touch it.
Fridgegal: It could be anything, we should call the cops.
CRETIN: Nah.
Cretin starts opening the package.
Fridgegal: I really don't think that's a good idea.
CRETIN chuckles. The Gentleman and Fridgegal involuntarily step back.
Fridgegal: Seriously, we should call the cops.
CRETIN: Nah.
The Gentleman: She's right, man.
CRETIN stops unraveling the unidentified package.
CRETIN: What? Is it your package?
Fridgegal shakes her head angrily and turns to leave. But again, in the most un-New Yorker like manner I turn around and continue to talk. (gwah, I'm glutton for punishment).
Fridgegal: Seriously, you should not be opening that package! It could be anything. We should call the cops.
The gentleman: Listen, she's right.
CRETIN: Nah, it's just a package.
Fridgegal: We should definitely call the cops.
CRETIN has lost interest in the discussion and is now busy trying to peel off the tape that's keeping the inner package sealed. I decide that being far away from the package when CRETIN opens it is a better idea and take off.
About twenty minutes later I spot a police car and tell them about the incident (in my mind, although there has been no explosion, it could still be chemicals or something).
I'm glad I was wrong.
But that day it became blatantly clear to me that it only takes one CRETIN to initiate disaster. And he is not necessarily elected.
Yours truly has finished her double americano and goes to throw away the coffee cup. (yes, yes, lets deal with the environmental aspect of that later).
In the trash she notices a large brown package. Wrapped in brown paper, with no addressee, no stamps, no nothing.
It looks like The Brown Package that has blown up countless buildings, modes of transportation and innocent bystanders in movies, TV-series and various semi-readable books.
I stop in my tracks and stare when two men approach me. One of them is older and walks with great difficulty, let's call him The Gentleman. The other one looks like your typical Lower East Side middle aged man; tank top fitting snuggly over a protruding stomach, basket ball shorts and a baseball cap on back wards. When he speaks it is clear that dental hygiene is not something he worries about. Lets call him Challenges Rational Explosion Tactics In NYC, or CRETIN for short.
I have just stepped back from the package, when CRETIN notices it, walks over and picks it up.
that's right.
Then he shakes it.
Yes.
Grateful that I'm still alive and in a totally un-New York savvy manner I initiate a conversation.
FridgeGal: Hey, I don't think you should touch the package. We should call the cops.
CRETIN: Why?
Gentleman: Yeah, man, don't touch it.
Fridgegal: It could be anything, we should call the cops.
CRETIN: Nah.
Cretin starts opening the package.
Fridgegal: I really don't think that's a good idea.
CRETIN chuckles. The Gentleman and Fridgegal involuntarily step back.
Fridgegal: Seriously, we should call the cops.
CRETIN: Nah.
The Gentleman: She's right, man.
CRETIN stops unraveling the unidentified package.
CRETIN: What? Is it your package?
Fridgegal shakes her head angrily and turns to leave. But again, in the most un-New Yorker like manner I turn around and continue to talk. (gwah, I'm glutton for punishment).
Fridgegal: Seriously, you should not be opening that package! It could be anything. We should call the cops.
The gentleman: Listen, she's right.
CRETIN: Nah, it's just a package.
Fridgegal: We should definitely call the cops.
CRETIN has lost interest in the discussion and is now busy trying to peel off the tape that's keeping the inner package sealed. I decide that being far away from the package when CRETIN opens it is a better idea and take off.
About twenty minutes later I spot a police car and tell them about the incident (in my mind, although there has been no explosion, it could still be chemicals or something).
I'm glad I was wrong.
But that day it became blatantly clear to me that it only takes one CRETIN to initiate disaster. And he is not necessarily elected.
posted by disinterpreter at 1:34 PM
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