Bay Windows

We were lucky, the boyfriend and I, to get the apartment with the bay windows. I like to watch the Tenderloin happenings from the safety and comfort of my second-story window. I’ve witnessed a tranny-prostitute being solicited by a man in a car at three in the morning, drunken bums stumbling around and peeing all over themselves, and one of my favorites…couples yelling and screaming obscenities at each other. Unfortunately, most of the time, this last one will occur directly beneath my window, and it saddens me when I can’t see what is actually going on. Half of me wants to throw water on them so they’ll go away, (but I worry that since they‘re bums, or at least, crazy, they have nothing better to do than harass me if I piss them off, so best to not say or do anything). The other half of me, the nosey half, wants them to move across the street so I can see which one of them I want to root for.

One night I couldn‘t sleep so I made myself a cup of tea and snuggled into a blanket, settling into my usual position on the couch watching the street from my window. I never know what I’m in store for. I watch. This particular night, I see immediately what will be keeping me entertained for the night. There’s a black man in a baseball hat across the street trying to get into a car. Interesting goings on. So, I watch. He has something in his hands that is long and he is obviously trying to get into the car by using this thing. I’m not totally sure what he’s using, but it looks not only interesting, but scandalous. We are in the Tenderloin after all, so an important question pops in to my head, is this his car, or is he trying to break into it?

I want a second opinion, so I ask my boyfriend what he thinks is happening. I explain the situation and the things I’ve been watching this guy do. My theories are this… since he’s on the passenger side of the car, this could mean that if he is trying to break into the car then he might have an easier time doing this without people bothering him as they walk by. It could also mean that he has had practice with this, and he has found it easier to break into cars on that side instead of on the drivers side. I’m not sure how long he’s been at this, but he keeps working on it while we sit and watch. I’m wishing that I had popcorn, mental note: buy popcorn! He hasn’t busted open the window, which maybe means that it is his car and he doesn’t want to break his own window. I ask my boyfriend if we should call the cops and then they can ask him what’s going on, because I would feel really bad just sitting here watching this whole thing unfold if he ends up getting in there and robs the car. My boyfriend says, “But he’s black, and I would feel really bad calling the cops on this guy if it is his car.” So here’s our dilemma, to call the cops, or to not call the cops. It’s a question I’ve had to contemplate more times than I’d like to admit while living in the Tenderloin. We sit and watch.

He’s been working on it for some time now. He moves back to the other side of the car and tries that for a little while. People walk by him, and I think good, a good Samaritan will inquire about his actions. They look very briefly in his direction, but their eyes don’t linger for long. Silly me, we’re in the Tenderloin, no one walking by a black man trying to jimmy open a car at this time of night is going to stop and have a chat with him to inquire about his intentions with this car. Maybe it’s his car, they’ll tell themselves.

Eventually he gets the car door open. Omigod! Now’s the moment I’ve been waiting for. He returns the thing that I thought was some kind of coat hanger to the back of the car. Looks like it was the antenna, because he screws it back onto the car. He casually gathers his jacket off the back of the car and throws it in to the passengers seat. I’m thinking, now we’ll know whether this is his car or not. He’s either going to pull out the spare key and be on his way, or he’s going to rummage around and get out, leaving the car. He turns on the dome light. He does stuff, I don’t exactly know what, I can’t exactly see. I strain to see what’s going on. It’s killing me that I can’t see what’s happening. He’s moving around. Maybe five minutes pass by, and then he’s got the car running. Did he hot wire it? Did he have a spare key? I’ll never know because a minute later he’s cruising down the road.

I think about him even now, wondering if I did the right thing by not getting involved. I tell myself, it probably was his car.