Archive for the ‘theft’ Category

Wearing your heart on your car

A few weeks ago I was stuck behind a large truck on my way to work. I often am stuck behind a large truck or two on my way to work. This particular truck, however, had the normal “offensive” stickers all over it. One of which said, “Welcome to America. Now learn English.” I posted about this topic on my Facebook and got quite a response. Although I do understand the frustration of trying to communicate with someone who doesn’t know much English (and the irritiation that comes with knowing that some families choose not to EVER learn once they arrive here), imagine being in their shoes. And let’s just remember that when we visit outside of our Land of the Free, we should never assume everyone there will or CAN speak English. In this instance I found myself torn on the topic for the reasons I mentioned above and for the fact that I am an American. And I know how many people who come here want that affiliation but don’t have it yet. Bumper stickers as food for thought isn’t really a new thing. But I have found myself noticing them more these days. My friend, who is a farmer for a CSA, gave me a sticker that says, “Who’s Your Farmer?” Well, she is. And I was proud to display it. And it must have been a pretty cool sticker because when I came back to my car after lunch in Deep Ellum yesterday, it was gone. Peeled clean off. I guess they wanted Marie to be THEIR farmer too…

But all of this just makes me wonder, should we wear our thoughts, ideals, emotions and our hearts on our cars? In the journalism biz, we are pretty much forbidden to place political stuff on our cars. It shows bias and is frowned upon. However, I’ve seen plenty of J folks sporting their beliefs loud and clear on their back windows. And in today’s interesting climate in the media industry, does this even matter anymore? The rules have changed. We have changed. So is it wrong to share our thoughts as openly as what we stick on our cars? Even if you aren’t a media type, what about if you are a teacher? A pastor? A therapist? Should your car remain silent and forever hold it’s peace?

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Just retire already…

It’s just a small room with two windows facing out to office cubicles. It has a door with lock on it. It’s nothing special and quite plain. But there is a desk or two and plenty of cabinet space. I look into this little room every day. Even when the door is shut and the occupant isn’t even there, I peek in, I dream, I ponder. It’s just an office. A tiny room with the ability to shut off from the rest of the world. With the ability to give me privacy. But it’s not mine. Nor will it ever be while this occupant refuses to give it up. Or retire.

He’s a fixture here. He didn’t aways have an office. And unlike me, he’s not in management. He’s an older gentleman and has worked here for a while until they gave him a new beat. The previous occupant of this room I speak of was his boss. And since everything had changed, this guy was never here but SOMEHOW got the little room I have been coveting by default or just plain Good Old Boy system. Technically it was supposed to go to me. I’m in management, like I said before. He has the office based on wacko principal. Why does he deserve it? He’s older than me I guess. And he’s worked here longer. But I guarantee you I work more in one damn day than he does in a week. I have direct reports that I often need to speak to privately so how do I do it? Well when the conference room is occupied, I go outside.

“Hey so and so! You’ve got a raise!” (insert sound of cars going by.)

It really sucks and yes I’m bitching about it because it’s tough to do my job in a cube next to my team. I have to respond in riddles when the boss calls.

For more than the most part, the current occupant of said office sits in there and reads the damn paper. Drinks his coffee and passes out the mail. Making sure to rub it in to me by throwing lots more mail (that doesn’t even belong to me) on my already crowded cube. He doesn’t need that office. He can do that shit on his own time…on his couch.

Day 63: The power of a note on the door…

Be gone all you thiefs!I woke up to discover this morning that my tiny Christmas tree equipped with tiny, shiny, glittery little ornaments was swiped from my front porch. I know that it may not have been the best thing — to actually leave something I gave a rip about on the front porch. But combined with the gold bells on my door, the bow I made latched on to the door knocker — everything felt so nice when I came home. Because from inside and out my house was so very pleasantly festive with Christmas cheer. Well, my Christmas cheer faded with my little discovery.

I became enraged. I left a polite note on my neighbor’s door about it after looking around the complex (and glancing the trash) to see if I would find it somewhere. I sat in my house, numb with anger of course. I’ve been robbed several times in my life. Mostly related to my car. This was it. So I kept checking the peep hole every now and then just to see if I saw someone to ask questions. Then I noticed this one young looking guy coming down from upstairs who looked quite guilty when he stopped at my neighbor’s door to read my note which read:

“If you happen to know who stole my tree, please let me know. It wasn’t very nice. Signed (my apartment number).”

Then after he read it, he looked down directly where my Christmas tree WOULD have been. When I saw his face I decided to draft another letter and this time put it on MY door. This one read:

“Merry Christmas Asshole. Whoever stole my fucking Christmas tree doesn’t know who they are fucking with. You will get yours — one way or another. Signed (my apartment number).”

I fumed. Ran errands and came home. Then I heard some really loud walking and looked out the peephole. I saw my “friendly” upstairs neighbor going downstairs. I decided to wait for her to head back up. She would have to pass my door to get to her apartment. I waited because the connection was made. She was surely friends with the guy from earlier in the afternoon. Before I could completely ask her if she had heard anything funny last night she confessed that her friend stole my tree. She said he was “intoxicated” and that she was sorry and was bringing back the tree. Guess what she said next?

“I didn’t appreciate that note. It wasn’t very Christmas-like…”

THE BALLS ON THIS CHICK! I told her I didn’t give a damn, she stole from me and that I’ve been through a lot in my life. And that I didn’t appreciate HER stealing from me. She proceeded to say it wasn’t her. It was her friend. Same damn thing. Long story longer, she brought it back and said that she didn’t want it to affect things with her and I. Hilarious. My punctuation mark was letting her know I’ve been victimized in my life and that stealing from me was wrong. She felt like shit. Her face was if she may have concluded I was once upon a time kidnapped and left for dead.

What does this have to do with the countdown? Nothing. An hour walking in a parade carrying a giant Curious George yesterday and ending my day getting back stolen property counts as a workout for me.

FIN.