Rob Gets Robbed
Published in the Algonquin Times November 11, 2005
Standing in my bedroom holding a power drill, I'm preparing to attach a set of metal bars to the window.
The extra security precaution is necessary because my downtown apartment has been broken into twice in two weeks.
The first time, they climbed in through my unlocked bedroom window and took off with my stereo. I was angry, I felt violated but I could deal with it.
The next time I left for a day, I blocked the windows with boards so they couldn't be opened and hoped that was enough.
No, returning I found the window on my door had been smashed. Getting over this one would not be so easy, despite the fact that all they took was my PlayStation 2, a bottle vodka, a space heater worth 20 bucks and half a pack of cigarettes.
I still cannot comprehend someone going through the trouble of breaking a window to make off with half a pack of cigarettes. Just what goes through someone's tiny brain when they plan this?
The police officer who responded both times would only tell me that I live in a bad neighbourhood and I should move.
Why should I pack my life into a U-Haul truck again just because there are bastards around here who can't even be bothered to panhandle long enough to buy a pack of smokes?
Speaking of the police, aside from providing me with a piece of paper to write my story on, they haven't exactly been of much help.
Shortly after the second break-in, I returned home to find a message on my answering machine from some detective informing me that my case was closed. He said they had "persons of interest" in the case but had no evidence to do anything.
As I erased the message, I glanced over at the glass case that used to house my stereo and look at the beautiful set of fingerprints that are still there and still uncollected, despite the fact that the delinquents who pulled this crap are probably in the system already.
Five minutes later, leaving my apartment to go visit a friend, I was accosted by two officers who seemed to think I was committing a crime by entering my own car.
After I showed them my licence and registration to prove it was indeed my car, I asked them where they were when my apartment was being ransacked.
"Excuse me?" asked one of the officers.
"Well, you caught me getting into my own car but you can't seem to catch the guys who made off with my stuff," I replied.
"Oh, we were on our coffee break," the officer shot back before taking off.
Clearly I'm on my own as far as protecting my property.
But as I look through the phone book to try to find a place that'll sell me 30 feet of barbed wire, I have to stop and wonder why this is necessary.
Sure, I live in a bad neighbourhood. Sure, I live on the first floor of a bungalow that's not too hard to get into but that wouldn't matter if it wasn't for too many bad apples in society who seem to think they're above working at the 7-11.
As far as I'm concerned, I should be able to leave my door unlocked if I want to, I should be able to leave the keys in the ignition of my car without having to worry about it being swiped.
I know, I'm a dreamer.
-30-