I started my week off
on a decent note. I turned my work computer on to see an e-mail from Thought
Catalog about my submission being posted onto the site. My first ever. I wasn't expecting
it. The praise from my friends was really appreciative and despite the
depressing nature of the post, I was happy to know my support system enjoyed my
writing. I worked my typical 9-5 job, went to the gym, and walked home like I
always do. Until I noticed one of the locks on my door was unlocked. I ALWAYS
lock my deadbolt. Always. So I figured when I push the door open, the deadbolt
would stop it from opening all the way. Nope. Deadbolt was unlocked too.
There, on my couch
laid the remnants of a backpack he/she/they took along with my laptop (5k+
music files), iPod (same said music files), watch (Marc Jacobs), my mother's
engagement ring (crying), my grandmother's gold pinky ring (CRYING), and some
earrings (whatever, Forever 21) I had in a small wooden box on top of my
dresser. All of the old student IDs, gift cards, and expired
insurance cards I kept in an old wallet inside my dresser drawer were
spread across my bed. They even took the liberty of taking all the coins out of
the same wallet. Down to the last coin those fuckers went.
I noticed my back
window, which I would keep ajar to let air circulate through, had gross hand
prints all over that wall. So I assume it was team job since the window had to
have been more than 6 feet above the ground outside. Someone must've been
hoisted up inside, moved the window screen and then buzzed an accomplice in
through my front door, hence it being unlocked when I came home. The initial
feeling was complete confusion and shock. I had no idea where to even begin,
but I took a quick scan of where they searched and quickly realized they took
the things of most value.
Phew! My crop tops are still here. That's
good. Oh, and that sundress from Australia. Awesome, still here, I thought. But my family heirlooms and my beloved, extensive
music library that I treated like my child were taken. Realizing this, I paced
the room, and I started slightly hyperventilating as I dialed my mom’s number.
My voice was shaking, hell, my whole body kind of shook just from seeing all of
my shit all over the place. Even I don’t make that much of a mess when I come
home wasted after I night out.
The culprit(s) went
all out, going through my personal things, being in an apartment that is MY
intimate space, and taking what they could while I was gone. It's almost scary
knowing that. Actually, it's fucking terrifying. I did all of the necessary
steps: called the police, called my landlord, called my mom, called my best
friend who lived nearby, ran a police report, had detectives come over to dust
for prints, and scheduled things for my landlord to fix, and drank three
glasses of red wine. I slept at my best friend's place that night. Just knowing
I would be sleeping in the middle of crime scene alone sounded a little creepy.
Feeling as if I couldn't bring people over after having something happening
like this made me feel anxious. How would
anyone feel safe here after knowing something like this? I thought. Wondering
if it would happen again gave me nightmares.
I spent the rest of
the evening accepting the fact that those material things and I had to part
ways. It was unfortunate obviously but the most important thing about all of
this was that I wasn't there while it was happening. Whether it was a group of
kids with nothing better to do or just a bunch of lousy drug-hyped creeps
finding things to pawn off for their next fix, who knew what they could've or
would've done if I was there in my bra and underwear frying eggs on my stove
top and playing techno music on blast.
The reality of the
situation is that these things happen everywhere. I wasn't even the first
person in my building that it happened to - the police officer who came over
told me about the same thing happening upstairs a few weeks ago. I thank God
that I didn't get hurt. My family and friends who found out and called/texted
to see if I was okay reminded me of how sacred life really is. Knowing that
you're cared about like that is a good feeling, and that's something even the
grimiest of smugglers can't steal.
On a lighter note, I
was texting my friend while the detective was dusting for fingerprints and I
had a laundry rack with some bras and other delicate garments that were hanging
there drying and this was the exchange:
Me: My laundry is
hanging in the kitchen. Great they know what kind of bras I wear.
Her: Hahaha I'm sure
they've seen worse
Me: Well my old
vibrator was sprawled out on my couch when they searched thru my backpack so
the robber knows I'm into that shit
Her: Hahahahaha
As the great Vince
Vaughn said in Wedding Crashers: "LOCK IT UP!"
