Thief Trek

by Lauren

Mondays have never been particularly good days for me, considering it's the end of the weekend and the start of the normally stressful mess that I call a week. This last one, though, has really been a trip.

My day started at 1 am, when I received a phone call from the friendly neighborhood campus police informing me that someone had reported a person trying to steal my car and that I needed to go talk to the officer in the parking lot. After he checked my license, walked around the car for a minute, and asked me questions like which apartment I lived in, what my social security number was, what my favorite breakfast cereal was, and who would win in a poker game between Elvis Presley and William Shatner, he told me there was little he could actually do besides writing a report, and that I should go back to sleep.

Four hours of sleep later, I got up for class. Afraid that my car door, which was now at a 45 degree angle to where it was supposed to be, would fly off of my car and kill some unfortunate pedestrian if I actually drove to school, I chose to hike over to campus. Between classes, I had to trek all the way back home to my apartment to do all the things I had forgotten to do in the morning, like eating. After walking the twenty miles across campus, I got home with ten minutes to eat lunch, grab my guitar for my music class, and call my parents to ask how to file an insurance claim. Thinking the last one would be most important, I decided to call my parents. This normally simple task was somewhat complicated by the fact that my parents were on vacation in Italy. After fighting my way through twelve different touchtone menus, a slew of Italian phone operators, half of the mafia, and accidentally tapping into the Matrix a couple of times, I finally got to talk to my Dad. He told me that he was glad I was okay, but that there was little anyone could actually do until he got home besides writing a report, and that I shouldn't worry about the car. I should be more worried about the $1200 phone bill I'd just racked up in four and half minutes.

From that point, I had exactly a half hour to get from Courtyards to the Performing Arts Center. After missing every van, bus, and other form of public transportation onto campus, I chose to risk hiking to campus again. I trekked my way across Rt. 193, through parking lots, over mountains, through jungle foliage, and across desert sands before the demons attacked me. I had managed to knock quite a few of them out with my guitar when I saw the Performing Arts Center off in the distance. I was so happy that I ran past the demons and rushed through the door. I walked to my class, happy that I was only a little late and thanking heaven that I was finally going to get to sit down for the first time since I woke up. That was when I noticed the sign on the door to the classroom that said my class had been cancelled.

The moral of this story: Thieves are stupid.