baby got jacked (part quatre)

by mg at 02:08 PM on October 27, 2001

Sure, it sounds awfully Goldilocksish, but I was worried about “someone eating my porridge, sitting in my chair, and sleeping in my bed.” I still am. I’ve got nice toys now, remember, I was a dot.com asshole. But, as nice as my consumer goods are, I’m really more worried about someone’s grubby little hands all over my stuff than about them taking it.

It gives me shivers to think of some gold toothed, Joe Pesci in Home Alone looking mook is sitting in his secret lair somewhere and listening to my favorite CD, wearing my favorite shirt, or posting to their blog using this, my trusty and well-worn laptop.

So, to learning my neighbor was robbed really freaks me out. Her apartment got hit between the time she left for work and when she got home that night. Luckily, if you can call it that, it doesn’t appear the burglars took much. They left the TV (most importantly) and all her other electronic equipment. In fact, they stole so little she couldn’t even tell what they had taken.

The thieves broke in through her kitchen window, did their dirty deed, and then went back out the window with whatever small bits they could carry with them. They looked through drawers, closets, and even the refrigerator. They hardly disturbed the place. Walking into her apartment for the first time, I’d never guessed she was just robbed. Anything the thieves disturbed, whether stacks of paper from a filing cabinet, or boxes of clothes from the hall closet, were left piled neatly on the floor. It was no messier than my apartment is right now.

It looked as if the intruders had rooted around the apartment, searching though various paperwork. They probably broke in looking for hidden cash, credit card numbers and other info to be used for identity theft (I’m guessing). Either that, or my next-door neighbor is a law student who wrote a brief explaining her theory about a conspiracy behind the assassination of two Supreme Court justices; which has now placed her in jeopardy with the only person able to help an investigative reporter who looks vaguely like Wesley Snipes.

It’s just so strange, I was home almost the entire day and I didn’t hear anything. Even if I did, I doubt I’d have thought it out of the ordinary. Between my various neighbors, I hear all sorts of strange noises throughout the day. I felt bad nonetheless, thinking that my spider sense had failed me again. With great power comes great responsibility, and I spent the day irresponsibly jamming out to the new Fantastic Plastic Machine record, with my stereo turned up to 11, when I should have been watch-dogging my apartment for any signs of trouble.

I’m keeping an eye out now, but I doubt that my apartment could get robbed. As mentioned, my windows have bars. My neighbor’s windows don’t; apparently, no kids ever lived there. I also keep plants on almost all my windowsills, like I was Leon from The Professional. If anyone were to break into my apartment, they’d have Natalie Portman to deal with. Whenever I leave the house, I close and lock all windows without plants. And also I don’t really leave the house that often.

Even still, I’m scared.

Which finally brings us to the whole point of this long, serialized story (which has everyone griping at me). The point is, if I wasn’t already scared enough about leaving my house, what with the constant threat of a being hit by a hijacked passenger jet, breathing in anthrax spores during one of my frequent trips to the set of NBC Nightly News, having serin gas released in the subway car I’m riding, or even just getting hit in the head with a brick by a homeless guy, I ‘m now scared to leave my house in case I come back to find someone has been sleeping in my bed.

The end.