Other than a
rare bad check, my massage practice and business has never been ripped off –
until last month. Armed with a pizza, the dog, my phone and laundry, I
neglected to make sure all the doors were securely closed on my car that Sunday
night.
Monday, after
doing about 10 errands, I noticed things looked different in my car. The
console was light on pennies, dimes and nickels; the papers usually on the
glove box shelf were on the floor. Where
is my gum?
I stopped at the next errand and looked in the trunk. My massage table was gone. Along with a nice big bag of clean laundry (they left the bag of dirty sheets) and my coffee can full of pens, cheater glasses and odd bits.
“Aren’t you
mad somebody ripped you off?” a friend said. “Don’t you feel violated?”
Well,
actually I didn’t feel that way. I thought about putting a $100 bill in the
middle of a bear trap in the driveway, but it seemed like it might create too
much paperwork. I don’t look good in an orange jumpsuit. Who does?
Revenge takes
too much effort. A cracked-open door with a wrapped birthday present on the
front seat loaded with exploding skunk stink packs would be too elaborate.
Plus, burglars and thieves injured on or by other folks property can sue their
homeowner’s insurance and often win. Plus-plus, I can’t wrap presents very
well.
Back to the $100 bill fantasy, this time coated with herpes simplex virus, itching powder and dog floop.
Things happen, especially when you don’t make sure to lock the car. I was thinking about a new table anyway.
Meanwhile, if someone tries to sell you a used maroon Astra-lite with wheeled black case….