It was a morning just like any other… The sun wasn’t up and my alarm screamed at me a little earlier than I wished. Who am I kidding? The alarm was screaming way before I was ready to start the day. That was normal though. I got ready in my normal and slow process.
Long, hot shower. Check.
Coffee Round Two. Check.
Make Up. Check.
Bags. Not check.
This isn’t completely unusual either. I have been called the bag lady before and that name didn’t end with high school. As a teacher, I have a teacher bag. As a girl, I also have a purse. As a person who goes to the gym, I have a gym bag. Let’s just say I have a lot of bags, so sometimes I bring all the bags in and sometimes I don’t. I’m not consistent. I wander around the house for a few minutes looking for them.
Here is a little taste of what my thought process was: Bags. Bags. Where are my bags? Did I bring them in last night? What did I do last night? Oh yea, I cut hair. I must have left them in the car. *Insert humming as I walk to the car to get my bags that will be where I left them* “Darn, we left the garage door open last night. Oops. *And open the car door*
Hmm. Not here. That’s funny. I really thought I left them in here. Must be in the office. *Walks to office still humming. It’s going to be a good day.* Hmm. Not here either. Where the hell are my bags?!
At this point I’m getting a little frantic, but I’m trying to keep calm. I often freak out long before the freak out is necessary, so I’m trying not to panic. In my not panicking state, I go through the living room like a mad woman, I’m sure my hair is standing up oddly from the many times I’ve run my hands through it. Dining room? Move all the chairs. No. Not here either. Closet? “I can’t find my bags,” I say to Nathan as I storm by him. My voice has taken on that crispness, a certain shortness of words that I get when I’m stressed about something. Not in the closet.
“What do you mean you can’t find your bags?” he asks as I zoom by him again. Checking the office again seems like a good idea, but isn’t a fruitful venture. “Beep. Garage Door,” says the security system as I open every door to my car including the hatchback that I know I didn’t use. Never hurts to check, right?
Here is where the real panic starts. Not the frantic nature of misplacing something, but the full on gut-wrenching, stomach-churning feeling of something that has been taken without permission. “Oh my God,” I repeat over and over.
“What’s wrong?” Nathan asks again.
“My… bags… are gone,” I state, gasping between words.
“Are you sure?” he asks.
“I’ve checked everywhere. They’re not anywhere. I don’t know where they are.”
Nathan proceeded to recheck everywhere that I checked. I sit on the arm of the blue leather couch, clutching my hair with the tears rolling down my cheeks and snot running freely. They took everything out of my car. How could someone do this to me? How could someone do this to anyone? I feel violated, frustrated, and more than anything, lost.
As I sit there, room blurry with my tears, I start mentally listing the things in my bags. My bag had papers I hadn’t graded yet, there were books I had checked out from the library, a movie that wasn’t mine. My favorite house shoes that I had just bought and could wear to work. Then it hit me. Oh. My. God. They took my iPad. It was in my purse. It was in my purse. The expletives were many and creative.
It was the first big gift that Nathan had bought me, aside from my wedding ring, and I used that thing everyday. I was like a drug addict who was going through withdrawals for the next week. People I work with would pull out their iPad during meetings and I would want to cry all over again, or steal it and laugh hysterically as they would then know what I was going through.
I know what you are thinking. A little melodramatic, isn’t she? I know. It’s just an iPad. I lost a lot of other stuff, too, but all that other stuff could be easily replaced. The iPad was something that I wasn’t going to be able to replace anytime soon. We called the police and had to file a report.
I patiently waited for the cop to arrive. By patiently (those of you who know me well probably can guess what I was doing while I was “patiently” waiting), I cleaned the entire house. I cleaned the guest bedroom, made our bed, unloaded the dishwasher, vacuumed a couple of rooms. You know, the works.
When the cop arrived, I was hoping for some serious detective work. You know, fingerprinting and foot print assessments, but that stuff just happens on TV. He was very nice, but he couldn’t undo my own lack of conscientiousness when I left the garage door open. And as much as I hated it, I knew that this was mostly my fault. Garage door open and car unlocked. Any thief could tell you that I was an easy target.
After this kind of morning, I then had to go to work. Red, puffy eyes and everything.
I got my bags back a couple of weeks later, they had dumped them because they weren’t worth money like the iPad and the computer charger. I was happy to get my stuff back, but I was still really frustrated with the loss of my iPad.
A couple of days later I realized that they stole my brand new perfume, too. Just perfume, but still. It’s been almost a month since this has happened, and I’m moving on. I even have some positive experiences to share with you. Those will come in another post, so check back. More on this story to come.