You spot so much shit on the streets — good shit, bad shit, all of it. In my NYC biking life I’ve found over a hundred dollars, five here, twenty there. The experience adds to the video gameyness of it all. For a bad shit example that isn’t something awful, let’s just say all those water bottles full of apple juice littering the streets aren’t apple juice. If you’ve never paid attention to street litter you might never believe the amount of piss bottles around.
On seventh avenue and 34th street one afternoon I saw an iphone in the street, unlocked. It wasn’t my first found phone on the street. The first time it happened the owner was a local, and I got it back to him quickly. The second time it happened there was nothing to be done, and I left the phone on the curb out of harm’s way. This time, the iphone was a tourist’s.
It being unlocked, I could open the messages. I wrote the most recent one, “Uncle” somebody. After the customary “stop joking around” response and my assurance that I was indeed a stranger with nothing but good intentions, the Uncle called me. This was not a drill. Uncle mobilized and called the Aunt, who was more than a little annoyed that her Niece had been holding her phone out the window of their shuttle bus capturing the sights and sounds of midday Midtown.
Their tour was scheduled to make a pit stop on 29th street, and I met Aunt and Mother on the sidewalk. They were very nice and normal and appreciated my effort to return the phone. Mostly, though, they were shocked and surprised that I was nice, that a ‘New Yorker’ went out of their way to help them. I didn’t use the act of goodwill as a trap to ambush and mug them. I didn’t demand a ransom for the phone. I even refused a cup-of-coffee reward. What box could they put me in?
Suckers. Little could they imagine the self-satisfaction I got from that bit of altruism. Twenty minutes of my time that afternoon bought an act that is paying smugness dividends to this day. Here am I boasting about it. I did a good thing once. And I’d do it again.