Okay, another "Prague experience": narrowly avoiding a master pick-pocket

If the U.S. ambassador to The Czech Republic warned us once, he warned us a thousand times: watch your wallets, visitors. The Prague pick-pockets are top notch.

Id heard this warning from so many people - most of them more knowledgable about the ways of Bohemia than George W. Bushś folksy mono-lingual Alabama raised spokesmodel in the Czech Republic - that I was even paranoid keeping my wallet in the zipper pocket in the front of my coat. Could they not slip a malnurished, paper thin arm underneath my coat, trim out the back of my pocket out with nail scissors, and steal my wallet in half a second? Even leaving my wallet in my lock box at home made me nervous. Surely they could cast a wallet nabbing spell they by plucking one of my hairs, could they not?

No, actually. They could not. They seem to prey mostly on passed out drunk tourists wearing hawiian T-shirts, who have their wallets taped to the outside of their bags. Last night, though, on the way back from Nicoles birthday party, I was targeted. If you are walking through old town square at 4 in the morning, you are presumed to be a drunk American.

I saw a man and a woman about a hundred feet to my right. I didnt think much of it. Two people. Big deal. I see people all the time. Humans are pretty amazing creatures, but you get used to them. I thought they were Italians at the time, but applying stereotypes in retrospect makes me think they might have been Gypsies.

The woman broke off with the man she was walking with, came up to me, said "Ciao" a few times, then grabbed my arm, as if to steal me away to a passionate love affair. "Ne, ne," I said, shaking my head and waving her away. I didnt know anything about this woman, and she expected me to fall in love with her like that? This isnt a Dvorzak opera, lady. This is PragueBlague!

She was really insistent, though, and wouldnt let go. At first I didnt know what to make of her. She clearly wasnt a prostitute, because she didnt keep saying "sex" while looking at me with big, sad, desperate eyes. Also, she was with someone who appeared to be her boyfriend, and who seemed mildly annoyed that she was harrassing me. "Cant I take you anywhere without you trying to steal some poor Americans wallet?!"

Yep, she was a pick-pocket. She noticed the button pocket on my vest with a bulge in it, and rubbed my vest, as if she were scrubbing my chest lovingly. Thanks to the Ambassador, I knew exactly what she was doing, knocked her hand away, and spun around. "Oh," she exclaimed, truly surprised that I wasnt up for chest scurring/wallet losing that night. Her boyfriend, even more embarrassed at this point, called her back over.

What really pissed me off is that she wasnt even going for my wallet. She was going for my notepad with all of my ideas! What the hell was she going to do with that? My notepad was in English, which she clearly cant read because she kept saying Ciao, which may as well be Greek. Even if she could read English, theres no way she could read my tiny handwriting. My parents raised me, and they cant even read that. And even if she had the same sort of handwriting as I, spoke English, and thus could read it, she wouldnt know what to do with all of my ideas. They just wouldnt make sense to her. She might have written a few pages of a short story or two based on something I jotted down, but it probably would have been bad. She would have tossed the notebook that means so much to me into the trash, and gone right back into her career of choice. Thank God I wasnt walking through Old Town Square drunk and passed out with my wallet taped to my vest.

PS. I thought Nicoles birthday party was more than okay. It had Waynes World, Hair, friends, pizza, pincnics, jumping photos, mirror mazes, and good times. I had fun at least. Though, had it been my birthday, I probably would have been a little disappointed too.... no pinata.