Some days at lunch, Aubrey and I watch Roseanne. Some days Roseanne sucks and we watch Leave it to Beaver. Today, we watched Leave it to Beaver. It was an episode in which Beaver begs June and Ward for permission to start riding his bike to school like so many of his chums are doing. On the very first day, Beaver lets a kid he doesn't know take his bike for a spin and, you guessed it, the mystery kid never comes back with the bike. It's been stolen.
During the course of the episode, it is revealed that Ward neglected to register the new bicycle with the city, making it virtually impossible to trace the bike. Beaver feels stupid for getting the bike stolen, Ward feels stupid for neglecting to register the bike. Aubrey and I love to laugh and point at the characters in Leave it to Beaver, pointing out their serious character flaws and backwards 50s thinking. Today we laughed at Beaver for being such a toolbox, but more importantly, we laughed at Ward for being such a jackass and for forgetting to register the bike.
Flash forward to this evening. We were hanging some pictures in the living room. I went to the garage to grab my drill and the battery I left to charge last night when I put the drill away. But the drill wasn't there. And neither was the charging battery or the charger. At first I thought Aubrey might have taken the stuff inside for some reason, but then I noticed a stack of CDs missing from atop the toolbox (including, I realize now, my Sufjan Stevens CDs, goddamnit). Then, I turned around and saw that my bike had been stolen. Aubrey's bike was still there, but my bike had been swiped.
I often leave the garage door open during the day (not any more) because I work from home, and I have two very alert dogs. Today, I made the mistake of running to the grocery store without closing and locking the garage door. When I called the police to report the thievery, they came and asked me a series of questions and looked around with me. The police officer asked me if I had a serial number for the bike or if I'd scratched my initials or name or anything into the bike. "No," I said, feeling just like Ward Cleaver in today's rerun of Leave it to Beaver.
I guess what goes around really does come around.
Tuesday, July 08, 2008
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6 comments:
Nice going John.
Seriously though, we've never been robbed, but I can imagine the anger you feel at having someone come into your home and take your stuff. You should be able to occasionally forget to shut the garage door without being cleaned out by worthless scavengers.
I'll be checking Craigslist for hot Sufjan Stevens CDs. If I come across one for sale, I'll let you know and we can set up a sting operation.
Sounds good, Dan. While you're looking, there was also a Les Thugs CD, a Bright CD, and a Bakamono CD. Those three will stand out like a sore thumb. Can we set up a sting operation like Redford and Newman in The Sting? I've always wanted to do that.
In reality though, yeah it was a bit of a bummer. I've always thought of our garage as being a tough target. It's behind our house from the street, and we have a long driveway that runs between our house and the neighbor's house. I wouldn't have the nerve to try to enter the garage and take something if I were a stranger, but I guess that's why I'm not a thief.
Also a bit of clarification: this bike is not exceedingly nice. It's just your typical, run-of-the-mill bike that one uses for riding. Nothing fancy.
Irony aside, that blows.
I actually took part in a successful vigilante sting operation 3 years ago after we and our neighbors were burgled. In involved an exciting foot chase, several squad cars, and Vicodin-enhanced jumping and diving. It's a long, but entertaining tale - better told over a keg. I'll never be the same.
Sorry about the loss, John.
My garage has been hit several times but only beer was taken. (It's probably a big surprise to you that I have a beer fridge.)
I'm just amazed at how stealthy the thieves (thirsty teen boys, no doubt)are. They get in and out with a load of clanky bottles while we're all home. Not even our dog hears anything. Normally, when I go to grab a cold one, the clanking of bottles in the refrigerator door can be heard in Beardstown.
Seriously though. Imagine their disappointment with their ill gotten CD gains. That should serve to provide you with some sense of karmic justice. No Master P, no Korn or whatever relevant youthful pop music. They got amongst others a French punk band. French?!?! Awesome! I wonder how long it takes them to realize it isn't an album by or about tough gay women. They should be curled up in a ball crying out to their gods about how unfair life is.
Hey Gish. Thanks for the good points. That does make me feel a little better.
Also, I've realized in the last day or so that some of the CD cases were actually empty. So, on top of realizing that most of the albums are of little interest in the buy/trade game, he (I'm assuming) will discover no actual content at all. Take that, you drill-swiping, bike-riding hooligan!
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