Paying it Backward
Someone broke into my shack two weeks ago while I was taking the mizzus to the airport. Broke in is maybe too strong a phrase since the door was open, never locked. I came in that next morning and an electric guitar was gone off its stand. At first I thought maybe I’d moved it. But no, it was missing. So was the acoustic guitar downstairs. I looked around for What Else was purloined, but … apparently my burglar was a musician, not an art lover. Dozens of framed stained glass pieces sat right where I left them, piled up throughout the studio. Tools were left untouched too and most everything else, mostly no value except to me.
My neighbor behind me, nice woman except for poor judgement in men, has a restraining order on her junkie boyfriend. The sheriff has picked him up more than once with stolen property, including my neighbor’s credit cards despite the restraining order. He’s still around. Our sheriff apparently has bigger fish to fry than a heroin addict burglar. This is bad news for me and the rest of the South End.
I just bought a set of locks and a hasp to bolt onto the shack’s not very secure front door. Someone wants to break in, they wouldn’t have any problem — I just want to take off the Welcome sign.
I had hoped — now that the Barefoot Bandit is securely cooling his heels in a federal pen for a few years — we could return to a pastoral innocence lost when the Kid terrorized the South End. I guess not. I doubt the locks will make much difference. Maybe with some luck, the new burglar will realize there isn’t much worth stealing. That, or he’ll take up a career as a lead guitarist, make his fortune, regret the error of his ways and some day return not only my stolen guitars but throw in some classic signed by his new buddy Eric Clapton. Meanwhile I hope he appreciates the loan….
Hits: 32
Damn. Really sorry to hear this.
I guess this is really just a quick way to downsize without making the hard decisions myself.