Pocket Full of Karma
By Grace Carballo ‘17
My first day in Madrid when I went for a run, I realized as I struggled to find my way home that someone had somehow pickpocket my running arm band of my ca$h (luckily just 10 euros at the time). Like any furious parent, I wasn’t mad, I was just disappointed.
It’s possible I just dropped the money while fumbling with a huge map of Madrid, but I’ve been warned about pickpocketers so many times here and before I left- I think those who care about me fear I am an easy target- so I can’t help but jump to this relatively plausible conclusion.
The second best thing I can do is hope that whoever has my money really needed it and be thankful that nothing more valuable was stolen and I didn’t have more money on me. But the best thing I can do, and am actively trying to do, is teach pickpocketers a lesson.
Anyone, besides children, who wears jean shorts here is probably American and I have lived up to this stereotype several times already. Pickpocketers tend to go for the easiest victims and tourists are definitely up there, so right off the bat, I look like I’m probably oblivious. Also, I don’t have a great poker face so my emotions are pretty readable if you just look at expressions- lately that expression is a confused one, a pickpocketer’s dream.
What looks like a wad of cash in my back pocket, a pickpocketer’s pocket of choice, is in fact, an old metro map wrapped around some wrappers from the plane ride.
I envision this going down like this: I flounder onto the metro just before it leaves, ask a dumb question (but there’s no such thing) revealing I don’t have any idea what line I’m on, strike a frustrated but sassy pose, jutting out my hip and appearing engrossed in my phone. The trap is laid, the bait of worthless garbage and maybe even a strongly worded letter, ready for the taking in my pocket.
The culprit bumps into me, I apologize because Spanish Grace is sickeningly polite due to my strong grasp of pleasantries and little else. Culprit rushes off at the next station, calls his/her significant other and tells him/her that they’re eating good tonight- the fanciest fine dining in all of Madrid. The significant other thanks him/her for working so hard, not knowing the no-count scoundrel for who he/she really is. Significant other makes a reservation for overpriced small portions while Culprit pauses a moment to evil laugh and then take a closer look at the loot.
But what? How? What kind of sicko keeps old candy wrappers in their pockets?! Doesn’t the chocolate get on her pants? Yes, sometimes. She looked like her mind was empty but her pockets were full! Don’t mistake a clear mind for an empty one, dear Culprit.
Natasha may have a pocket full of sunshine, but I got a pocket, got a pocket full of KARMA.
