The rickshaw driver followed us into the famous Italian pizzeria in a sketchy part of Greenwich Village that Friday night screaming at the top of his lungs and no one looked up. The owner approached our table dressed in a white wife beater, a towel draped over his shoulder, and an attitude of being unbothered by the calamity that had formed around us. We had been bamboozled, hoodwinked, led astray, and run amok! We had been scammed and we weren’t willing to pay this man another penny for that ill-fated expedition from New York City’s broadway district to this pizza spot we were determined to try. My mother, son, and I went to The Big Apple for my birthday weekend and little did we know that this Friday would go down in infamy as my son would soon take his place as “thee young Godfather” and make a deal with this man that he couldn’t refuse.

Our night began trekking from our hotel in Time Square to Broadway to see the play Chicago. We were all dressed to kill and the excitement in the air was palpable as the sun set and dusk gently covered us with a filter of intrigue. The irony of seeing the play Chicago was two fold: the entire weekend of tours seemed to constantly compare New York and Chicago. Being from Peoria, IL and visiting Chicago frequently throughout my life- I adopted “Her” as my own. Secondly, Chicago the play reminded me of the notorious gangsters that Chicago has harbored over the decades; making New York seem a tad less menacing. Even though we aren’t from Chicago, I felt a sense of pride that we are at least Chicago-adjacent, in more ways than one. As we left the play and the masses rolled out of the magnificent theaters onto the mean streets of the city- we couldn’t seem to catch an Uber and the famed pizzeria everyone told us to try was closing at midnight and it was 11pm.

Just when we were about to give up on our plans and walk back to our hotel, a rickshaw driver pulled up and was making us a deal. My gut instinct screamed to ignore him and walk the other way. The devil on my shoulder whispered, “Just do it!” I asked him the price for the three of us to ride all the way to Greenwich Village in this carriage pulled by this tiny man whose accent sounded like the character from the movie Borat. When he refused to say the price that should have been my first clue that this was a scam, but desperation and starvation will play tricks on your mind and common sense. Hesitantly, my son helped us aboard the rickshaw and off into the night we went- swerving in and out of traffic, laughing hysterically from fear and sheer shock that we found ourselves in such an unusual vehicle with an even more unusual character- driving recklessly through the crowded streets of New York.

When we arrived to the pizzeria I sensed that we were in for a battle as he was hesitant to tell us how much we owed. Instead he kept asking if we wanted him to take a picture of us to remember this night. Just then, I snapped and my “Chicago-adjacent” attitude came surging out! I instructed for my mother and son to get down from the rickshaw and I would only pay him half of what he demanded- which was still highway robbery. As we walked into the pizzeria, the driver followed us in yelling and making a scene as if he thought the shame would sway my decision to pay. We sat down and no one in the restaurant seemed phased by the lunacy that ensued. You could tell that this was just another crazy Friday night for these wise guys. Just then, my son stood up and placed his hand firmly on the man’s shoulder and said come with me. My son was dressed in slacks, a buttoned down-shirt, tie, and dress shoes. There was nothing intimidating about our appearance that would denote that we were outlaws trying to get over on this man, but yet my son’s demeanor was cold, calm, and calculated. He wasn’t about to let this charlatan take us as some silly tourists that would be easily taken down. My son ushered the driver into what appeared as a utility closet and when they reappeared it was clear that he had made this man an offer that he couldn’t refuse. “Borat” went off quietly into the night and then we finally were able to order this famous pizza that honestly wasn’t worth the drama!

Our weekend in New York was eventful to say the least. The lesson learned that night was to always follow your gut, never believe in something that seems to good to be true, and for the driver- don’t judge a book by its cover. We may be from Peoria, but we have the attitudes and hearts of true Chicagoans. Don Vito Corleone said, “Never get angry, never make a threat, reason with people.” I suppose that’s what my son did with the rickshaw driver in the coat closet of the restaurant that night. Luckily, my mom and I didn’t handle him otherwise we would have gone out like Roxie Hart and Velma Kelly in the play Chicago and ended up in a New York City jailhouse awaiting trial. All in all, my birthday weekend was fabulous and this incident was just the tip of the iceberg of the outrageous weekend that the three of us had. Who would have thought a grandmother, mother, and son would be a trio on the lam- fresh out of Illinois causing trouble in The Big Apple.

Speaking Frankly,

Janay Frank