I get the call at 9:20pm:
“Hey! How are things?”
Sharkboy: “Not good…”
Sharkboy was just finishing up Pirates of the Carribean when he heard a noise coming from his bedroom. Flicking on the light he looks up to his small window (the small, basement-sized one that is just above the roof of the adjacent building next door, yet right at the top of his wall) to see a guy with a screwdriver poking at the latch on the window frame. Both men freak. Both run to the back alley. Sharkboy chases after him in his bare feet (in hindsight, this was probably not that bright, but in the heat of the moment…) and yells “I’ve called the police!” Would-be robber gets away.
Then he calls the police.
6 cops show up, take the screens for fingerprinting and then case closed. Damage done: one broken window, two shattered apartment-dwelling human’s nerves.
When I lived nearer to the Village, I was broken into while I was out . My roomies were at home at the time, “occupied” in their bedroom. The roomies thought the noise in the apartment was me bumbling around, when it was really two kids shoving stuff into their napsacks. It wasn’t until one of the robbers opened their bedroom door to get an eyeful of hot gay action did they realize they were being burgled. They chased one of the kids out the front door and heard the second leave via the back patio.
I come home to an apartment full of cops. They ask me some questions then ask me to see if any of my stuff is missing. One of them follows me up into my attic bedroom and as he crests the stairs he exclaims: “Holy! They really did a number up here!”
I am notorious for not putting dirty laundry in its hamper, nor do I put clean laundry away. I generally live the slob life.
“Yeah,” I say slowly, “A real number.”
Damage done: my Nintendo 64; $30USD I was saving for a trip to Kentucky; a pair of GAP chinos, which I took as a compliment towards my fashion sense, and my big city livin’ virginity. It took me a full 2 weeks to realize they went through my sock drawer.