Both the Copa and the bar at the Bridge have become hangouts for young(ish) black locals, rather than for Penn students or the rather eclectic University City melange of non-Penn-kid peoples. The ambience and staff in both places have changed to suit (unless the egg came before the chicken which, in this case, I doubt). - Mike V.
-----Original Message----- From: [EMAIL PROTECTED] [mailto:[EMAIL PROTECTED] On Behalf Of Frank Sent: Tuesday, October 02, 2007 6:29 AM To: UnivCity@list.purple.com Subject: [UC] At the Copa... >From my blog: I was walking past the Copa Banana at 40th & Spruce St., two blocks from me, around 1 am this morning. Suddenly this HUGE (tall and round) man with a white t-shirt that ended around his knees came flying out of one of the side doors, nearly knocking me to the ground. The door almost came off its hinges. He was holding his crotch of his pants (which could have been nowhere near his actual crotch) with both hands and he ran behind me towards the corner. The 40th St. side of the place is a row of glass doors and I slowed down to see what was going on. Some people tried to pull the door shut but the bottom got stuck and the door looked really bent. I could see through the glass that there were a couple of guys violently holding someone in a red plaid shirt down/back against the bar. He was really struggling to get away. Then the guy who almost knocked me down, ran back up the two steps, pulled the door open and went back inside, mumbling. He pushed past some women and knocked over a table on his way across the room. He ended up standing in front of the plaid shirt man, screaming and gesturing wildly. At this point, some patrons, mostly women, began leaving though the side doors, screaming things like, "I'm getting out of here before they start shooting!" And, believe me, they were GONE! Great. I just stood there gaping like a moron, all 5' 4" of me, with my Fresh Grocer shopping bag in one hand, the other hand popping Mega M&M's into my mouth. I must have looked like Norman Bates and his peanuts only not as nervous. I could only have appeared more stupid if I had been yapping on my cell phone. I glanced north on 40th St and saw a UCD "Safety Ambassador" sauntering up the street, walking her bicycle, maybe 30 feet from the rather noisy melee. Then two very large and very cute bouncers forcefully escorted the guy in the plaid shirt out the door. He kept yelling, "I'm gonna air you out!" (I think), whatever that means, as he backed south on 40th St. One of the bouncers said "Go ahead!" while gesturing with his little taser wand thing. By the time the UCD woman got it together to put her radio to her lips, there was already a Penn Police car backing down the street. The "perp" had taken off his plaid shirt and was walking at a normal pace towards Pine St. The bouncer told the Police," It's him. The guy in the white t-shirt," (so much for the costume change and trying to blend in with an empty street). They nabbed him before he got to the corner. I couldn't make out what the officers were saying to him but I could hear his responses from across the street. The gist of it seemed to be that he was trying to pick up some women ("bitches") and he was cock-blocked in some manner by some men ("motherfuckers" and also "bitches"). The officers began to pat him down-he seemed cooperative, if a bit mouthy-and a Penn Police SUV pulled up beside them. I kept walking. "Show's over, folks. Move along." Call me old-fashioned, but it seems to me that talking to the police using language and gestures learned from hip-hop videos isn't the best way to garner sympathy and get them to listen. (There's a wonderful line well-delivered by Justin Timberlake in Alpha Dog, "The only thing those guys ever shot was a video." Hilarious, and the whole movie really, in a delicious bite-size chunk.) When I was arrested I was all "Yes, officer. No, officer. Thanks for the cold fried egg sandwich, officer." and "Yes, Your Honor. No, Your Honor." Is that really so hard? I mean, I could tell right away that, whatever I had to say, true or not, the cops had heard it a million times before, so I'd better just shut it. Watching and listening, first to the people around me in the holding cell and then to my incessantly chattering overnight cell-mate and our immediate neighbors, gave me new respect for law enforcement officers. I don't know how they stand it. I guess that's just one of many reasons I'm typing this at home instead of San Quentin. That and my bringing-upski. Thanks Mom (and Stephen Sondheim)! I have noticed that Penn students have kind of abandoned the Copa this year. Last year, I swear, it was packed with students every night of the week. Then, during the summer, the patrons were more neighborhood folks. Im not sure if incidents like this one are the cause or the result or neither. Maybe it was a one-off. I do know I don't like it. (The Copa is the closest good burger to me and I really don't want to be dodging bullets while I eat dead cow on a roll and spanish fries.) No, I haven't fallen for UCD's "clean and safe" fantasy either; this isn't that shocking to me. On the other hand, I was just standing there staring in just the kind of situation in which bullets fly in Philly far too often these days, staring blankly like it was on television. Maybe the summer of Dick Donato has numbed me to physical as well as psychological violence. I guess I'll be calling UCD for a Safety Ambassador to walk me and my M&M's home from now on. I'm really dreading it, not only because I walk to the Wawa nearly every night, but because I hate making small talk with strangers. (Really. That's why I stopped going to barbers.) Maybe I'll pretend to be deaf! I'm listening to "I Don't Want to Hear it Anymore" from Dusty in Memphis by Dusty Springfield. Frankus Sleek. Edgy. Infinitely flexible.
