3.15.2011

Karma, Part Infinity

I'm stupid.

Thousands of you have been waiting to hear me say that. Well, joke's on you, I say that about myself all the damn time. It's not my fault you're not there in my garage as I attempt to learn how to build Tetris bookshelves or replace my own brakes. Maybe you should quit being so lazy and show up from time to time.

Anyway, some of you might remember a few years ago when some thieves stole my truck out of my driveway. It turned out it was just neighborhood kids out to impress each other with how brazen and lawless they could be. I thought I learned my lesson; I locked my doors and even had Georgia Power come out and install a new streetlight to cover the dark corner in our cul-de-sac.

Well, it turns out that whole thing about lax security being a result of being too comfortable is true. I got robbed again.

Andrea was going to drive us to the gym last night, so I went out to my truck yesterday to grab my gym bag. And much to my dismay, I couldn't find the damn thing. More than that, I noticed my glove box was open and the center console lid was up. But nothing immediately struck me as weird. The night before, I took Mike up to Wal-Mart, and he likes to open compartments.

It's an odd compulsion. But it's actually a legitimate one. He's pretty OCD (yes, I just verbed a noun, and I also call vampires "Draculas," so fuck you) and opens up containers seemingly for no reason.

But when I couldn't find the gym bag, I immediately shifted to "well, okay, so I at least need my iPod to go to the gym" mode. And when I couldn't find that, it clicked. I'd been robbed.

They basically did a quick hit-and-run and stole what they could quickly get their hands on. The iPod, a FLIP camera, a pair of sunglasses and the little spring-loaded change holder that sits in my console. Oddly enough, they left the other pair of sunglasses, a multitool, and all the cash in the visor zipper holder... um, thing. Whatever it's called.

But what really pissed me off was the gym bag. The only thing of any worth to anyone that isn't me that was in that bag was the earbuds. Everything else -- my knee brace, my cycling shoes, a tube of Butt Paste (don't laugh; when you have to wear a brace one day and it chaffs, you'll discover the awesome power of Butt Paste)... Now I have to go and get another fitting for another brace and replace the damn bike shoes.

What really sucked was the fact that I was in a pretty bad mood that entire day, and the last thing I needed was a legitimate reason to be sour. And now I had one. Which means I had no choice but to lock myself away, because the last thing anyone in the world needs is me in a bad mood in public.

And I can't help but think that the reason I keep ending up a target of the retard neighborhood kids is from an entire childhood and adolescence spent being a complete pain in everyones asses.