Tuesday, December 12, 2006

I am so NOT lying... It was CSI live in our living room.

Okay. Admittedly, two things. First, I am a very busy person by nature. Second, my life goes through these phases of supreme dramatic bullshit that is enough to make anyone tired.

For these reasons, there have been many occasions that I've planned to see a certain friend of mine for a cocktail and it hasn't happened. I will call him and suggest a day, and by God each and every time all hell will break loose and I'll need to postpone. It's honestly never been intentional. It's like a new chapter of Murphy's law.

So, seeing as how I never see this friend anymore at all because not only have the majority of my efforts to get together and share conversation have been thwarted, but now we don't work together either. I called him and suggested we go to a local watering hole right between our homes and toast a martini. He said he was in. It was on my calendar. I was looking forward to it. The good Lord knows if I ever needed some Grey Goose and bleu cheese olives, it's lately.

I woke up yesterday morning and did a mental scan of my day's plans. A drink with my friend was in there. So was visiting my storage garage to clean some things up and make room for additional boxes. At 5:30 in the morning, I got up with my husband, prepared his clothes, and started the car for him. (Check me out - aren't I the best wife ever?) Technically, we've switched cars for the time being. I have, in my humble opinion, a very nice car. I bought it when I got a promotion that included a car allowance. Prior to that I'd only owned and driven very used cars. Without said car allowance, I'd have never made the purchase. It would not have been logical or smart whilst still paying off student loans and credit card debt. But as it is, I was able to buy a car I loved and paid a grand total of I believe $85 out of pocket monthly to cover the car payment and insurance after the allowance. Not a bad deal, really. So my husband has still been driving a car that is 12 years old with 110K miles on it. But as he works in a whole 'nother state, I've been a bit worried about him in it. It's all about odds. It's certainly far more likely that a 12 year old car with 110K miles will break down than it is likely a brand new car will. So I've put down my size 6 foot and switched cars with him. He has not been very receptive to this, by the way, because he feels strongly that I "earned" the nice car, and it should be mine. I say bullshit. It's a hunk of metal and plastic on four rubber tires. It's meant to be driven, and if he's doing more driving than I, he should have the car. But certainly the chivalrous and sweet way about him was noted and appreciated.

So off he goes in (technically) my car. He calls me at about quarter to eight in the morning and reveals that the storage unit key is in the car. Damn.

I go on about my day and realize that my insurance card is also in the car. Damn.

Here I'm in a predicament. It would behoove me to drive to his state of employment and get these things, or at least meet him for dinner and get these things, so it won't interfere with my doctor's appointment set for 2:30 the following day and the plans to work in the storage unit.

But, I have plans with my friend. That I don't want to cancel. Because, it seems, I ALWAYS have to cancel with this friend.

So I work out a way to switch some of the week's activities around and still keep my plans intact. Until, lunchtime on Monday comes.

I would write out the conversation, but it would honestly take too long. My husband calls me as he leaves work and heads to our studio apartment only a mile or so from his job to make some lunch. He enters the apartment, and trails off from our conversation with some confused, perplexed mutterings.

He was looking at several pieces of splintered wood lying on the floor in the living room. Not understanding, at first, where they came from. Then he found a few metal parts, including, but not limited to, the metal contraption on the side of a door with the doohickey that goes in and out as you turn the doorknob.

Someone broke in. Through the side door that leads from a main hall in the building into the living room. A door that is never used. The regular door knob never really locked well on that door, but there was a fine, industrial strength deadbolt that kept things intact. Until, that is, someone used a prybar or large screwdriver to rip the entire door apart from the outside and bust through it. The wood all around the floor was from the door frame.

Of course he had no idea what to do, and he had no numbers on him to contact his boss. I suggested he go back to work, and I'd make the drive there and help him handle things.

On the way down, I had to call my friend and postpone. I swore I wasn't making all this shit up. I told him the whole truth - the storage unit keys, my insurance card, and now the break in. He laughed.

Incidentally, nothing was taken. Not the two Christmas presents sitting in plain view in the kitchen area that are valued at about a grand each. Not the television, microwave, or PlayStation. Nothing. All they, he, or she did was bust in and search the place, tearing through everything as they, he, or she went. What was being sought, we had no idea. Until some other folks in the building appeared. And it seems there was not only evidence that someone tried to get into two other apartments, but that one had been robbed a few weeks back and it was unreported. All that was missing? Lots and lots of prescription drugs in labeled containers. The tenant there is a pharmaceutical rep.

We all glanced into the tiny bathroom, and there were smudges all over the edge of the medicine cabinet. But nothing was removed.

Disappointing, I'm sure, that all either of us take, on rare occasion, is Advil or Tums.

Then things got exciting. Remember Barney Fife? And his partner? In Mayberry? Imagine a "B&E" in Mayberry. Because that's exactly how it was treated in this small town. The officers came, then detectives followed, and they took prints and castings of everything. No shit. Armed with plastic gloves and many of the tools we've all seen on CSI, they went to serious work on the place. It was amazing. The police force was there for hours at work. I was sincerely impressed. And, any worry we had at the oddity of a break-in happening in this tiny little town was pretty much gone by then because clearly this is how the police force operates. They were not foolin around. You'd have thought it was a homicide scene with the Hope diamond missing from the premises.

Where we live? Dispatch would have asked if anyone was hurt or dead, and then extended an invitation to come down to the station and file a report. Good ole' Michigan.


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