Ransackery!

Here's the thing,

I've been robbed.


But here's the other thing--

How many times can a person be robbed before they're technically considered a fool? One? Two?

... Is it three?

Tell me it's not three, because if it's three, I would have to change my name and leave town. As a big dumb old fool. But you know what? I can lock all my doors and cars and lockers all day every day, but the one time I forget is the time I get robbed.



Back in ninth grade I ran track (believe it), and one day I was late and in a rush to get to the track, so I left my phone and $50 that was for track sweats in my locker, and forgot to lock it. After practice I came back to a locker room full of ransackery and a girl from my grade bawling to her friends. Her phone had been stolen, and so had mine. I was livid, and I sincerely hope the thief enjoyed seven pounds of cellular brick banging around in his pocket.

I eventually got over it with the help of a smaller, sleeker new phone. But I never did get any track sweats, which is why you still don't believe I could hurdle (I couldn't).


A couple years later, I (technically) had a car stolen from me, but don't tell my dad because it was 100% stupidity on my part. One, because I "sold" it to a complete jack-hole who bounced to "Pennsylvania" minutes after and two, because I didn't have the good sense to make a bill of sale or keep the title or anything. So Alan, wherever you are (laying in a ditch, bleeding from the eyes (crossed fingers) (kidding, but am I?)) I hope you feel awesome having stolen a car from a dumb little 17 year old.

Meh, it was a piece of crap. I was out about $400. Which, you know, was infinity shopping trips to a poor 17 year old, but no way was losing $400 worth telling my parents. (Shhh...)

And now, it's been five solid years since I've been robbed. But the other night I was distracted by some obnoxious neighbor girls and in all the hullabaloo of getting them to stop sneaking into my house or smothering my baby, I forgot to lock my car. The next morning, there lie a small blue flashlight on my trunk, and there lie no MP3 player on my seat. Dirty Ba******!

For a hot minute I thought about taking the flashlight to the lab and getting the fingerprints off it, but then I realized I had no idea what "lab" I was referring to and even if I did take it to the police that MP3 player was worth only around $30 and was on its way out anyway. But even despite all that it really ticked me off, and I hope that greasy teen in the next building (of whom I'm suspicious) really enjoys my selections of big band Christmas songs, baby lullabies and mellow folk artists!

You know what though? My neighbor had her car picked over, too. She was missing a digital camera full of family photos and, AND, her bike got stolen so... I suppose I need not complain.

But if I ever see that greasy teenager with headphones in and gently swaying to what can only be Iron & Wine, you can believe I am going to have a tough time not running him down with my car.

THEFT IS A CRIME!

But turn the other cheek and "they probably need it more" and other some such malarkey.

I'm ok, I'm over it. But the message here is: always remember to lock your doors. And if you see a tall skinny dude that answers to Alan, you just tell him, "shame on you!" and leave me out of it. Because I've already gone through enough anxiety about that, and I'm over here trying to be Christlike.

(Here's the proof!)