Luckily, I don’t have an abundance of stories to share on this topic. But… having lived in Atlanta for six years, there are a few things. I mean seriously. Atlanta is one of the shit stolen capitols of the world. I had a lot of my shit stolen there.
Well, not a lot. But some. Below I’m going to give you a brief rundown of the times I’ve been burgled over the years. Then you guys can take it from there, with your own rundowns. Sound good? Good.
When I was eighteen or nineteen, a person or persons waltzed into our house and jacked some of our stuff. The doors weren’t locked, because that’s the kind of town Dunbar was back then, so I can’t really say they broke in. But it sure felt like it.
They took our Intellivision console, a bunch of cartridges, and cash from my brother’s paper route collection bag. I think there were other things missing as well, but that’s all I can remember right now.
It had to be someone we knew, because the cash was hidden away and they went straight to it. My mother has a theory, and still clings to it. The only problem? I was with the person she suspects, so it couldn’t have been him. We were drinking vodka and Five Alive that day, and you can read about the episode here.
I really don’t know who was responsible, but it still makes me mad. If they’d trashed the place, looking for something of value, it might not have been so bad. But this “burglar” knew exactly where everything was hidden. And I was probably nice to them, the next time we talked…
When I lived in the Arrested Development house in Atlanta, I had to drag my spent and horrible draws to a laundromat on Briarcliff Road, then carry them up a couple flights of stairs to my apartment.
One night I had two baskets of stuff, so I parked in the driveway (about six feet from the house!), and took the first one up. And when I returned, the trunk of my car was open and the second basket was gone.
I can’t remember if I’d just lowered the trunk lid without latching it, or what. But I certainly didn’t leave it standing wide open, because when I saw it that way I instantly knew something was wrong.
Some bastard had stolen my clean clothes! Including my favorite, perfectly faded, jean jacket. I couldn’t believe it; for a few minutes I was completely wild, shouting profanity and vowing revenge. Man, I’m still getting a little worked-up, just thinking about it….
For the next few weeks I was on high-alert for some dusty turdchunk street person, wearing my prized jacket. I knew I’d eventually spot him, but never did.
And what the hell? I was gone for twenty seconds. Were they lying in wait, these laundry-nappers, off in the shadows until the opportunity arose? Man, that one really bothered me.
I also had my car window smashed while living in that place. Someone stole my stereo, and cleaned out the spare change on my console. But that comes with the territory, and didn’t upset me as much. If you choose to live in a tiger cage, you’ve got to expect a few maulings, here and there.
When I called the cops (strictly for insurance purposes, believe me), they had a voicemail system, I remember. For shootings, press one. For stabbings, press two. If someone doused you in gasoline then set your ass on fire, press three.
And about the only other episode I can remember, is when someone went into my office in California, and cleaned out my CDs. Inside an office building! With security cameras everywhere.
I was livid, and sent a scorched-earth email to everyone in the building. My boss told me I probably should’ve excluded the CEO and his lieutenants, but funk dat. I was wild with anger, and those guys needed to know about the thieving sons-a-bitches they had working there.
But nobody seemed to think it was a big deal. I couldn’t get them to review the security tapes (maybe because there weren’t any? I don’t know), and everyone kept telling me to calm down.
There was a stereo in my office, and I kept twenty or so CDs in there, to play during the day. They were in a drawer, and this person took every one of them. It happened overnight, after everyone had gone home. The cleaning crew? I don’t know, but that would be a damn good place to start the investigation. Don’t you think?
But nobody gave a crap, except me. There was no investigation, not even a hint of one. <sigh>
And now it’s your turn. Tell us about the shit you’ve had stolen over the years. I think I’ve gotten off easily, considering. What about you?
Use the comments link below, to tell us all about it.
And I’ll see you again tomorrow.