poverty is its own reward
i was talking with my dad tonight and he told me that our house was broken into today, while he was at work. now, this is no great feat for the burglar seeing as how my dad keeps the downstairs door unlocked. in fact, the best way to tell if a stranger is at the house is if they knock on the front door. the front door, i believe, is almost completely overgrown with trees, at point. so, if you knock, i don't know you.
the idea of burglary in my neighborhood is bordering on retarded...primarily because we live way the fuck out. to the north of us is a farm and a huge pasture of cows. beyond that? the great prairies of the Midwest...i'm not exaggerating; only farms and random pockets of houses. it's a nice neighborhood; your standard upper-middle class, raised-ranch houses sitting on about on acre of land each. it's a fairly small neighborhood, maybe 30 houses. recently, though, there have been lots of developments in the area. behind my neighbors house is the lake we swam in as kids, and there used to be nothing but woods on the other side. now, there's this whole new development of tacky, cookie-cutter houses. sort of sucks. more importantly, at least to this story, is the road from Indian Hills. Indian Hills is this neighborhood of better off niggas. not well off, but have a bit more money to move out of the center of town. it's still mostly apartment buildings and run down two bedroom houses and such. perhaps in search of quicker routes, the county built a road leading from Indian Hills to close to my neighborhood. niggerish activities , inspired by boredom, no doubt, followed.
it was so fucked up, too, because you knew it was people from Indian Hills, since almost all of the houses buffering my neighborhood had been hit. so, you have this nice, pretty road leading niggas to a fair amount of wealth. luckily, we are not one of those wealthy. we have stuff, but nothing to steal. i guess, if you're in the market for soviet pins and matroshkis, you're in luck. if you want some 1970's furniture and paintings of icons, fucking score. if you want something that will, i don't know, yield a profit, forget it.
anyway, admittedly, my friend, Cathy-whose mother still lives up the street-, told Papa that there were reports of break-ins and that he'd be well advised to start locking the doors. locking doors, physically or metaphorically, is not a very Heermancian thing to do. come to think of it, i think one time when he was out of the country he had left the deck door open.
my dad comes home from work today with the Boone county police across the street. he's curious, but pulls into the driveway. he notices that the downstairs door is slightly ajar. it's a sliding door, so he figured he'd closed it too hard and it bounced back a bit. he sees some soda by the door, but thought he forgot it when he took out the recycling. he goes into the downstairs area and notices the light on. now he knows there's something amiss. thing is, there was nothing missing. i guess if they wanted to lug the 300lbs tv from downstairs out, they were more than welcome. i live up here and he's either at work, playing tennis, or out of the country. still investigating, he goes upstairs and at the end of the hallway is a bunch of his tapes. yes, i said it...tapes. yea, his tape collection is, miraculously, still intact.
while my dad is telling me all of this, he's laughing...as am i. my dad is not a very high-tech guy. he doesn't own gadgets and when he comes home, he heads right for his room, turns on a game, puts some hamburger on the stove, and lamps out for the rest on the night. there's no computer in the house. there are no dvds, or a player, for that matter. i have a vcr hooked up to my tv downstairs, but that's it. lots of icons, though.
the part that made me laugh the most was the sodas. dad went back downstairs and picked up the box of sodas and realized they were still fairly cold. so, apparently, the burglars started to steal, what? soda? and abandoned them. what made me laugh the most out of that was that i know the heat of my dad's house. my dad doesn't use the central air hardly at all. when i'm home, he does...er, more to the point...i do. he had turned it on in preparation for a visit from my brother, but he flew back to NYC yesterday, so my dad turned it off. there has also been this massive heatwave blanketing the Midwest. the other day it was 103 degrees in MO. that's 103 actual degrees, i think the heat index was 115 or something. there're heat advisories all over the place and Habitat for Humanity has a place for people without air to go and have a program for renting air conditioners. it's no fucking joke; kids, elderly, and animals shouldn't even be outside.
so, here you have these fools "breaking" into my dad's open house and realize that it's hotter inside than it is outside. finding nothing from the 21st century, they look for something to drink before the die of heat exhaustion in this sweltering house. clearly not finding the booty of 7-UPs satisfactory (or maybe the energy exerted in carrying it was more than the cool, refreshing reward) they abandon it at the door and moved onto cooler, more lucrative destinations.
it was so funny listening to my dad talk about this as he chuckled through his tale. i think we were both mostly laughing at how much of a waste of time it was for them to even bother with our house. we're not ones to be married to things. well, we are, but it's not things of importance to anyone else. we just laughed because we know the content of our house...and now so do some thirsty fools.
the idea of burglary in my neighborhood is bordering on retarded...primarily because we live way the fuck out. to the north of us is a farm and a huge pasture of cows. beyond that? the great prairies of the Midwest...i'm not exaggerating; only farms and random pockets of houses. it's a nice neighborhood; your standard upper-middle class, raised-ranch houses sitting on about on acre of land each. it's a fairly small neighborhood, maybe 30 houses. recently, though, there have been lots of developments in the area. behind my neighbors house is the lake we swam in as kids, and there used to be nothing but woods on the other side. now, there's this whole new development of tacky, cookie-cutter houses. sort of sucks. more importantly, at least to this story, is the road from Indian Hills. Indian Hills is this neighborhood of better off niggas. not well off, but have a bit more money to move out of the center of town. it's still mostly apartment buildings and run down two bedroom houses and such. perhaps in search of quicker routes, the county built a road leading from Indian Hills to close to my neighborhood. niggerish activities , inspired by boredom, no doubt, followed.
it was so fucked up, too, because you knew it was people from Indian Hills, since almost all of the houses buffering my neighborhood had been hit. so, you have this nice, pretty road leading niggas to a fair amount of wealth. luckily, we are not one of those wealthy. we have stuff, but nothing to steal. i guess, if you're in the market for soviet pins and matroshkis, you're in luck. if you want some 1970's furniture and paintings of icons, fucking score. if you want something that will, i don't know, yield a profit, forget it.
anyway, admittedly, my friend, Cathy-whose mother still lives up the street-, told Papa that there were reports of break-ins and that he'd be well advised to start locking the doors. locking doors, physically or metaphorically, is not a very Heermancian thing to do. come to think of it, i think one time when he was out of the country he had left the deck door open.
my dad comes home from work today with the Boone county police across the street. he's curious, but pulls into the driveway. he notices that the downstairs door is slightly ajar. it's a sliding door, so he figured he'd closed it too hard and it bounced back a bit. he sees some soda by the door, but thought he forgot it when he took out the recycling. he goes into the downstairs area and notices the light on. now he knows there's something amiss. thing is, there was nothing missing. i guess if they wanted to lug the 300lbs tv from downstairs out, they were more than welcome. i live up here and he's either at work, playing tennis, or out of the country. still investigating, he goes upstairs and at the end of the hallway is a bunch of his tapes. yes, i said it...tapes. yea, his tape collection is, miraculously, still intact.
while my dad is telling me all of this, he's laughing...as am i. my dad is not a very high-tech guy. he doesn't own gadgets and when he comes home, he heads right for his room, turns on a game, puts some hamburger on the stove, and lamps out for the rest on the night. there's no computer in the house. there are no dvds, or a player, for that matter. i have a vcr hooked up to my tv downstairs, but that's it. lots of icons, though.
the part that made me laugh the most was the sodas. dad went back downstairs and picked up the box of sodas and realized they were still fairly cold. so, apparently, the burglars started to steal, what? soda? and abandoned them. what made me laugh the most out of that was that i know the heat of my dad's house. my dad doesn't use the central air hardly at all. when i'm home, he does...er, more to the point...i do. he had turned it on in preparation for a visit from my brother, but he flew back to NYC yesterday, so my dad turned it off. there has also been this massive heatwave blanketing the Midwest. the other day it was 103 degrees in MO. that's 103 actual degrees, i think the heat index was 115 or something. there're heat advisories all over the place and Habitat for Humanity has a place for people without air to go and have a program for renting air conditioners. it's no fucking joke; kids, elderly, and animals shouldn't even be outside.
so, here you have these fools "breaking" into my dad's open house and realize that it's hotter inside than it is outside. finding nothing from the 21st century, they look for something to drink before the die of heat exhaustion in this sweltering house. clearly not finding the booty of 7-UPs satisfactory (or maybe the energy exerted in carrying it was more than the cool, refreshing reward) they abandon it at the door and moved onto cooler, more lucrative destinations.
it was so funny listening to my dad talk about this as he chuckled through his tale. i think we were both mostly laughing at how much of a waste of time it was for them to even bother with our house. we're not ones to be married to things. well, we are, but it's not things of importance to anyone else. we just laughed because we know the content of our house...and now so do some thirsty fools.
posted by badassed at
1:15 AM
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