"I didn't miss! That shot was just to turn you around!"
Someone broke into my car on Monday night. Whoever it was made-off with quite a haul. Scott and I returned to my car, which was parked on campus near the 24-hour McDonald's, and couldn't find my cell phone. The second thing we noticed was that Scott's camera was missing. Alarmed, we discovered that my CD's were also missing. Also missing was my campus parking pass and Sunpass.
There was no obvious damage to my car. I guess that was my only stroke of luck.
I've got a new cell phone now. What I don't have are the phone numbers. There were a lot of important numbers in that phone, and I will never get many of them back. What I need is for everyone who reads this site to call me (same number) so that I can get your number.
It's humiliating.
Being victimized shouldn't be something to be proud of, but many people find it that way. I'm very guilty of this. This was just theft, but it's still humiliating. I blame myself for not locking my car (even though I usually lock it twelve times). It used to be that, if I couldn't see my car, then the car wasn't locked. I'd return to lock it periodically. Or I'd click the "lock" button on the remote key no matter how far away my car was or how many buildings stood between us. Now, my paranoia is justified. While I'm certain I locked my car, the evidence (or lack of evidence) suggests no lockpicking or forced entry.
So, I'm humiliated.
Also humiliating is the fact that, of all of these phone numbers, I've only memorized a handful. I didn't know Kelly's phone number. THAT'S embarresing. I knew only my house phone, Alyssa's, and my father's. I THINK I still remember Wayne's, and Jake's house line but not his cell phone. I know Russell's number at home but not his cell phone---that feels like forgetting to go to your brother's wedding.
Seven.... nine.... eight.... something....
I have to get a new Sunpass. I have to get a new parking decal from the school, and they'll probably charge for a replacement. I have to enter as many phone numbers as I can into this new cell phone. My old phone had a "Handsome Devil" background screen and played "My Hero" by Foo Fighers when someone called. When a girl called, it played the Sex and the City theme song, because Kelly programmed it that way and I never changed it. This new one plays the default Samsung ring. It sounds alien, or foreign. I don't recognize the tone. When it rings, I don't acknowledge it immediately. I don't know that it's my phone ringing or that someone is trying to talk to me.
And I'm crippled. I can't make the phone calls I would if I'd had all of the phone numbers I'd lost. How will I get them back? One at a time, painstakingly etching in stone each digit, each name.... like I said, it's humiliating.
But it's only a cell phone. This sense of loss, of incompetence, and embarresment--- it'll pass. Hell, by the time I wrote this sentance, it's half gone.
I lock my car once now when I exit. I check to see that the doors are actually locked by trying the handle. Then I walk away and assume it is still locked. I guess this is normal. I think of Schroedinger's cat, which may or may not be dead.
Please call my cell phone so I can get your phone number back. Unless, of course, you don't ever want to talk to me again. That's cool, too.
No, it's not.
There was no obvious damage to my car. I guess that was my only stroke of luck.
I've got a new cell phone now. What I don't have are the phone numbers. There were a lot of important numbers in that phone, and I will never get many of them back. What I need is for everyone who reads this site to call me (same number) so that I can get your number.
It's humiliating.
Being victimized shouldn't be something to be proud of, but many people find it that way. I'm very guilty of this. This was just theft, but it's still humiliating. I blame myself for not locking my car (even though I usually lock it twelve times). It used to be that, if I couldn't see my car, then the car wasn't locked. I'd return to lock it periodically. Or I'd click the "lock" button on the remote key no matter how far away my car was or how many buildings stood between us. Now, my paranoia is justified. While I'm certain I locked my car, the evidence (or lack of evidence) suggests no lockpicking or forced entry.
So, I'm humiliated.
Also humiliating is the fact that, of all of these phone numbers, I've only memorized a handful. I didn't know Kelly's phone number. THAT'S embarresing. I knew only my house phone, Alyssa's, and my father's. I THINK I still remember Wayne's, and Jake's house line but not his cell phone. I know Russell's number at home but not his cell phone---that feels like forgetting to go to your brother's wedding.
Seven.... nine.... eight.... something....
I have to get a new Sunpass. I have to get a new parking decal from the school, and they'll probably charge for a replacement. I have to enter as many phone numbers as I can into this new cell phone. My old phone had a "Handsome Devil" background screen and played "My Hero" by Foo Fighers when someone called. When a girl called, it played the Sex and the City theme song, because Kelly programmed it that way and I never changed it. This new one plays the default Samsung ring. It sounds alien, or foreign. I don't recognize the tone. When it rings, I don't acknowledge it immediately. I don't know that it's my phone ringing or that someone is trying to talk to me.
And I'm crippled. I can't make the phone calls I would if I'd had all of the phone numbers I'd lost. How will I get them back? One at a time, painstakingly etching in stone each digit, each name.... like I said, it's humiliating.
But it's only a cell phone. This sense of loss, of incompetence, and embarresment--- it'll pass. Hell, by the time I wrote this sentance, it's half gone.
I lock my car once now when I exit. I check to see that the doors are actually locked by trying the handle. Then I walk away and assume it is still locked. I guess this is normal. I think of Schroedinger's cat, which may or may not be dead.
Please call my cell phone so I can get your phone number back. Unless, of course, you don't ever want to talk to me again. That's cool, too.
No, it's not.