On Saturday, I had my first pickpocket attempt. I walked from San Telmo to Recoletta to meet some friends for dinner and to watch the futbol game. Being me, I arrived at our meeting place on the corner of two streets near the Recoleta cemetery an hour early, so I decided to go to an upstairs food court, grab a soda, and read while I waited. On my way up the stairs to the food court, an older gentleman in a blue shirt and beige suit coat stopped at the head of the stairs – I thought to let me go by before he came down. I passed him and stepped into line at a McDonald’s in the food court. A few seconds later I noticed he was behind me. That made me uncomfortable because he had been leaving when I came in, so while pretending to need to see the menu better, I moved to the other line. A few beats later he was behind me again. That really had my attention but I stayed in line for maybe half a minute more when I saw him reach out toward my backpack which I had slung over one shoulder. I stepped out of line then and started to cross the half-empty food court as though I was going to another vendor. I walked twenty feet or so and looked behind me and sure enough, here he comes exactly along my path. I stopped walking, turned, put my hands on hips and stared directly at him as he approached me. At first, he just glanced at me. Then he realized I was watching him and he changed direction and started walking really fast. He went out the back of the food court and I watched him the whole way.
I got my drink and sat down at a table against the glass wall so I could see the corner where I was supposed to meet my friends. The food court overlooked a seating area with benches and restaurants downstairs. I started to read my book but kept glancing up for my friends….and then I saw the pickpocket again.
This time, he was sitting next to two women who were clearly tourists and very involved in their conversation. I saw him scoot closer to the woman nearest him who had her bag beside her. At that point, I went for the security guard at the food court…and he didn’t speak English. In very broken Spanish I tried to explain and point out the man on the bench. The security guard asked the other people sitting near me if anyone spoke English and someone there did –and he translated for me. By that time, the women on the bench had stood up and the pickpocket was following them and the security guard went down after him, but, I think by the time he got there, the guy had gone.
I expected crime and pickpockets…not just because this is Buenos Aires but because it is a big city with a heavy tourism industry. Tourists are easy targets. I was surprised, though, how much this little event pissed me off. I wasn’t afraid. I wanted to beat the hell out of the guy. I think, in part, that had to do with his appearance. He LOOKED so nice. Like someone’s grandfather. Like he might start smoking a pipe and quoting old movies. Like he probably played chess and tended a garden. I realize it’s naïve to think that a pickpocket would LOOK like a pickpocket, but dammit, this man was ruining the good name of all grandfathers. And besides, if you’re that old and still involved in (and truly terrible at) petty crime, that’s just pitiful. At least have the decency to be a successful member of the mob of something.
