This week I had my first run-in with the NYPD. For what, you ask? No, I didn’t jump a turnstile, ride my bike on a sidewalk, or engage in any other acts of general badassery - I was mistaken for a graffiti artist for poster sniping (sans wheat paste) on a public bulletin board at 4 a.m.
For the last week I’ve been hustling a lifestyle / retail campaign for Swedish new-wave band The Sounds. Their label sent The Syndicate a ton of swag to be distributed all over Manhattan and Brooklyn to promote their new album “Something To Die For”:
“How are we doing on this fine morning?” one of two officers asks me as they stepped out of the car. “I’m going to need to see some I.D.” I may question certain forms of authority on occasion but I’ll never argue with a police officer. I politely handed over my housing I.D.
“Do you have a credit card on your person to confirm your identity? This looks fake.” I shake my head out of general surprise. “This doesn’t look good for you. Cold titanium toilet seats. The women at [Manhattan] Central Booking will eat you alive. You don’t look like someone who could handle it,” he says.
I ask the million dollar question: “Uh… what did I do?”
“Really? You’re under arrest for defacing public property.”
I didn’t know this until today but apparently NYC Poster Law states that that it’s illegal to affix posters, stickers, handbills, or other promotional to materials to the following:
- Trees
- Lampposts
- Telephone / public utility poles
- Public garbage bins
- Bus shelters
- Bridges
- Train structures
- Parking meters
- Mail boxes
- Traffic control devices / signs
- Fire hydrants
- Public pay phones
Good thing I refrained on all of the above.
In 2011 with the ever-emerging public profiles of conceptual street artists Bansky (“Exit Through The Gift Shop”), Shepard Fairey (OBEY), and Poster Boy the NYPD (and all police) are very aware of street art and graffiti. Understandably, they have to be. And for all intents and purposes I’m aware that because I was posting promotional materials at 4 a.m. it would be very easy to paint the picture of me as an aspiring tagger testing the limits of what she can get away with.
Let me be clear: I’m not. I specialize in grassroots and street marketing, not street art.
The officers make it clear that they have every intention of taking me to Central Booking. I consider my options and choose the most rational one. I’ve been blessed with the gift of gab and can talk myself into or out of almost any situation - If there was ever a practical use for that this was it.
I tell him I’m a marketing student at Pace University and that I’m a marketing rep to pay my rent. I throw in a sweet brag about my 3.53 GPA, my job at MusicSkins, and that when I’m not in school I volunteer at music festivals.
The mouthpiece for the two looks at his partner, who nods. We come to an agreement - I dodge an arrest on my pristine record if I trash all of my materials and leave immediately.
“Good luck with your career. You got lucky tonight,” he remarks sarcastically.
In my head I can’t help but think, “Really, officer? Let’s be honest here - it’s a poster, not a hostile takeover.”
