knock off bags

Went to Nassau Educators Federal Credit Union today. I have banked here for at least 20 years and have seen it grow from one location in Nassau to about 6. I love the one out by Roosevelt Field Mall.
Fridays are always busy because it's payday. I'm amazed at how many people have to come to the bank to cash or deposit their check. Anyway at the bank waiting on line to get cash for my Dad. Over my right shoulder I hear a commotion. 2 relatively well dressed women, who appear to be teacher's are arguing over what they thought was a Louis Vuitton bag.. I have carried knock offs and I have sold knock offs. There are many good ones out there. This one was not any good. You can go online and learn the tricks of the trade to know what to look for. The ones they have these days are pretty good, not great, but if you do not know your bags, you would be fooled. I can tell because I used to sell them, for the record, never Vuitton.
For the most part, they have it figured out. The exterior, the hardware, everything. Two things give them away for me, the weight and the interior. Louis Vuitton bags are always heavy, there is some heft to them. And while the pattern in the interior may be different from line to line, it is never cheetah print. big red flag, flashing red lights! I looked at it and just smiled. And to think, there 2 ladies, that were arguing over this bag are educators! Teachers! Arguing over the validity of a bag, because one moved it, ever so much, with her hand when she went to put her own bag on the counter where you sign your check, or fill out your deposit slip. And this chick flipped!! Accused the other one of trying to steal her bag, that was $2100- I thought to myself a real one would be $2100, not that cheap copy you're carrying. they got right in to it! My time was done, I had the money my Dad requested and I left as 2 people came from behind the front desk to break it up and I realized that I had spent $2100 on a handbag, that was probably on the floor of my closet..

electing Barack Obama

I remember Barack Obama's initial run for president. So many of us focused on him, because he was black. Officially, he is of mixed race, but remember no matter what your lineage or ethnicity is, if you look black, you are treated as such.
I waited on line that cool November morning for over an hour. I had never seen that many people voting in Lakeview for anything...no school budget or local election had brought out that many people. We were so proud. Barack Obama was so smart and articulate, part Baptist preacher, part older cousin or big brother, he was just cool and made it look so easy. We all prayed (and continue) to pray for him...but I digress...so I waited, voted for him, caught the train and went to work. Got home that night, just as they were getting ready to declare him the winner. I called my Dad. He like all of us was so proud. He told me the story of how he and my mother would travel north with my sister. They would drive day and night, only stopping to use the restroom. My mom would drive at night, because a black man at night would draw more attention. My sister, still in grade school would carry the money. This was during the 50's, many years before civil rights. My parents were both college educated and teachers. They finally moved North after the principal that the school where my Dad told him was making good money for a n#gg@r. Yep. He went home, and told my Mo and sister they were moving....again, I digress. So, when he and I talked that night, he was so proud and happy. He and my Mom always told me I could be anything I wanted to. That night, was proof.

#1

Years ago, before I was married, I used to date a man that worked at the Citicorp Center. To say we dated is kind of an overstatement. But we really enjoyed each other’s company, and every Friday I picked him up from work and we would hang out.

The Citicorp Center had an indoor atrium which was really popular in the 80’s. There were 5 or 6 restaurants in that atrium, including a bakery that made really good cream puffs and a Scandinavian sandwich shop that made the best turkey sandwich that I’d ever had. Good sourdough bread and freshly made cole slaw. It was $12 then and worth every penny.

My classes finished about 3 pm. I would pick up a Village Voice to see what was happening that night and to read the personals. I remember the first time I picked it up, there was an advertisement for a TV bar. I’m thinking, what bar doesn’t have a TV? What makes this one so special? ….little did I know.

In the middle of the atrium were wire tables and chairs, just like what you would see on someone’s lawn. There were white and very ornate. Some of the tables sat 4 and some 8. Most were occupied, by all types of people, young and old, rich and some homeless. It was a beautiful indoor space.

Every Friday, when I would get there, I noticed there were always 3 large tables put together, seated with mostly older white men. They made it their business to never let anyone but themselves sit at these tables. Most of the time, I didn’t care. I would just sit somewhere else. But, this particular Friday, I had gotten there a little early, because I wanted to get a cream puff. So, with the cream puff in one hand, and the Village Voice in another, I began to look for a seat. I’ll never know why, but that particular day, eveyr seat and every table was packed. I caught glimpse of a vacant seat and walked towards it. It was at the table full of older white men. When they saw me coming, one immediately put a Macy’s shopping bag in the seat. I walked over and asked was the seat taken. The man who put the bag in the seat said, “oh my brother is sitting there” I replied, “ unless he’s in the bag, you need to move it so I can sit down”. After a lot of hemming and hawing and me threatening to get security, they let me sit down.

As soon as I did, they all turned their back to me. They were speaking to one another, and passing about a white paper bag. There was a book or something in the bag they passed around, but what did I care?  I started to eat my cream puff and read my paper. After about 15 minutes, but friend came downstairs and off we went to begin our weekend.

Monday morning, I’m getting ready for school. My mom was retired, and my daughter Jade was a toddler. My Mom watched Jade while I went to class. Every morning, my Mom was up and dressed by 6am. She watched the local news and then at 7am, she would watch the Today show. Every day, like clockwork.

Bryant Gumbel was still the lead anchor and the talked about an expose they’d been working on for weeks. It was about NAMBLA, or the North American Man Boy Love Association. This was a group of adult men that believed that young boys could make conscious decisions about being with older men when they reached puberty. This was pre internet, so they had to meet face to face. No one would rent to them and they were afraid of being bugged, so they decided to meet in public spaces. Most recently they’d decided to meet at the Citicorp Center, in the atrium. They had also decided to print a calendar.

So, the reporter who had infiltrated them comes on and Bryant Gumbel begins to interview him. They ask him where does the group meet? “  At the Citicorp Center, every week on Friday afternoon”. I remember hearing this and noting that I have been at the Citicorp Center every Friday for the last 4 weeks. He then shows the video. It shows about 16 men sitting around 2 tables, talking to each other. And they are passing around a white bag with what looks like is a magazine in it. Well, that wasn’t a magazine. It was a calendar that one of them had made, by hand. He was on his way to the printer and wanted the others to see it before he did. In it was pictures of young boys, over 16, but very young in appearance. Bryant Gumbel says,’ there appears to be a woman at the table with them, who is that?” the reporter says, “we’re not sure. She was there for a few minutes and then left. We think she may have been friends with them, or some kind of ruse, although we just aren’t sure at this point. “ I stood there with my mouth open, looking at the back of my head, my cross body messenger bag slung behind my back. My mother looked at me speechless, I didn’t know what to say, other than, it was a public place and I was just reading the paper, waiting for my friend to come. All she could do was shake her head and say, “only you bimini, only you…”