PGHIMC - Pittsburgh Independent Media Center

Being a "Mayday kid" with a harmonica in the vicinity of a robbery
by Daniel Gordon Sunday, Sep. 01, 2002 at 1:46 PM

If there's anything worse than getting arrested for something you didn't do, spending almost a day sleeping on concrete, and then having to thank the officer for his troubles in court, it's having to do it while trying to hold up your pants. It's a very delicate situation. Yes, I too have finally smelled the athlete's foot odor of our justice system.

If there's anything worse than getting arrested for something you didn't do, spending almost a day sleeping on concrete, and then having to thank the officer for his troubles in court, it's having to do it while trying to hold up your pants. It's a very delicate situation. Yes, I too have finally smelled the athlete's foot odor of our justice system.

Let me explain. I was walking home about two weeks ago, minding my own business, when three officers drove up on me as I pushed my bike down the alley that leads to my house. Busy loading my bike basket with paint cans that had been discarded during spring cleaning, I didn't notice anything until the officers hopped out and were practically breathing down my neck.

The one who seemed to be in charge- a snub-nosed man with a set of hair that looked like it had been run through a George Foreman grillin' machine, wanted to know who I was and what I was doing. When I confessed that I had no idea what was going on they cuffed me and squeezed me into the back of the squad car. The other cop began rifling through my backpack on the hood of the car to taunt me; even quoting passages from my journal as he ran his stubby fingers across the page.

"It looks like there was just a robbery in the area," he said, after I asked why I was being held for the fifth time, "and you happen to be around."

I asked the cop if I had fit the description of the burglar. It turns out that no one had given a description. However, the woman who owned the plumbing store in question had heard a whistling sound coming from the back of the store. And I happened to have-what's this? - a harmonica in my pocket.

"Looks like he coulda made a whistling sound with that, " the other cop beamed, proud of his investigative work. I always knew that police work took a bit of deduction, but these guys were trying to spin straw into gold with a rusty can opener. To make things worse, the third officer came back a few minutes later dangling an anti-war flyer he had nabbed from my journal.

"You're not one of those Mayday people are you?" he asked with suspicion. He pointed to the patches on my sweatshirt. "I heard they're planning some Mayday protest on May 5th."

"This just might have everything to do with the robbery," his wise sidekick added.

Before I could tell him that May Day was actually on the first, or that robberies and protests don't have anything to do with each other, the others returned to with an ultimatum. I could either go willingly to have a "chat" with their special investigator, or they would arrest me and make me see him anyway.

As soon as I mentioned the word "lawyer" I was cuffed and shipped into a spacious office where a man with a neck as big as my waist told me he only "wanted to get to know me." Once again, my magic "lawyer" word brought back the same swarm of cops who scuttled me back into the car and to the County Jail.

We'll call it trespassing," he said, when I asked what I was being charged with, "and take it from there."

So there I was, waiting thirteen hours to get fingerprinted for a crime I didn't commit, and trying desperately to peel the bologna out of the sandwiches. Twenty hours later, when I was finally bailed out, I was left wondering what crime I had committed besides seeming like a "Mayday person."

Luckily, I was given time served at my trial the next week, but the court still stole $25 of my bail money for "filing fees." It made me realize just how easy it is to get picked off the streets in this country and held for ransom. It also reminded me to wear pants that fit without a belt. Let this be a lesson to those who think they can get away with holding political opinions around here: acting different is a crime.

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