Just the other day I was thinking I should pick up a new hobby to while away the hours in our new virus-riddled reality. Well, it didn't take long. I appear to have found that hobby. I just never thought it would be true crime cinematography.
Maybe I don't have to tell you the story. If you were watching TV Sunday night, you might already know it. My sexy masked mug was plastered all over your nightly newscast. We're in the middle of a pandemic, civil unrest plagues our nation, and a good portion of the country is presently either on fire or underwater. But Sunday night's top story? "FAT GUY LOSES BIKE: FILM AT 11." (Or, more accurately, at 6, 10, and 10:30 after the football game.)
It all happened Friday night. I found myself enjoying a rare weekend free of plans, chilling at home watching TV. It was actually kinda nice. I was even thinking about turning in early. Well, at least until the
BANG!
What was that? It was definitely a bang. Not a super loud bang, but a bang nonetheless. I love this town, and my neighborhood has always been relatively safe, but let's be real: random ominous bangs in the distance after dark these days sadly isn't that uncommon. I was sitting on my couch with nothing better to do than investigate.
Last spring, I upgraded my security system with some additional cameras in front and back of my house. Anytime I fancy, I can watch the happenings outside in real time. I was rewinding the feed to listen for the bang when I noticed the thumbnail pic of my back camera -- and the open garage door.
I'm an easily distracted human being. On the way home from work that night, I'd been giving a first spin to the fantastic new album by the Flaming Lips. I saw the Lips on New Years Eve Y2K, and it was a great show. SO great that, as I was walking out of my garage, I was trying to remember which song they opened that concert with. Was my brain so distracted that I forgot to close my garage door?
Nope. My garage door wasn't just open. It was off its frame, a fact driven home when the "INTRUDER ALARM" sounded on my phone. The bang I heard wasn't a distant gunshot. It was a burglar kicking in my garage door, and I was watching him rob me in real time.
Now, I realize there are two distinct paths one can take in a situation like this. One would involve me running out the back door and confronting the dude. I chose the safer path of calling 911. I would hope most people would agree with my rationale.
911 already knew the guy was in my garage -- my security system had already alerted them. The camera outside was flashing red and sounding an alarm. Yet none of this stopped my uninvited houseguest from commencing with Robberython 2020. If someone's desperate or stupid enough to brazenly burgle despite those deterrents, what's to stop him from doing something even MORE desperate or stupid had I marched out there? Not to steal a line from the great Robin Williams, but what would my next move have been? "Stop... or I'll say 'stop' again!"
Instead, I stood there in my kitchen providing play-by-play commentary to 911 as the guy made off with my 10-speed bike and a lawn chair I always hated. Clearly this guy didn't care -- as he runs away on tape, you can see every motion light in the neighborhood turn on as he makes his well-lit escape into the distance. I've never felt more proactively helpless in my life.
The police arrived four minutes later, and I got some great footage of them surrounding my garage with guns drawn. They were helpful and calming, and marveled with me at how ludicrous of a robbery it was -- not only do I have the entire thing on tape, but he even left a perfect muddy shoeprint on my door as a parting gift. Still, I've spent the whole week having a ton of feelings, none of them good. I'm less mad about my stolen stuff than the complete violation of the safety and sanctity of my home. Stuff can be replaced. My sense of well-being is a little tougher to fix. Plus spending the weekend installing a new (and MUCH more fortified) garage door wasn't exactly on my to-do list.
Let's be honest, I'm not exactly a cycling enthusiast. At best, I took that thing out a handful of times a year. Still, it's the bike I've had since junior high and it's still in great shape. I honestly hope whoever has it appreciates its awesomeness as much as I always did.
The video of the theft was captivating, so I uploaded it to Facebook for my friends to ooh and ahh over. Within a half hour, I was getting calls from TV reporters wanting to interview me. I think they just wanted cool break-in footage for the news, and I was happy to provide. It's just not quite as cool when it's YOUR garage getting burgled and YOUR bike getting jacked. All I know is I sure looked like a dork on TV.
So breathe easy, pro riders, for it sadly looks like I'll be forced to pull out of next year's Tour De France. In the meantime, if anyone sees a vintage midnight blue 1983 Schwinn Sidewinder rolling around town, give a shout -- especially if the rider's all hunched over in pain. That lawn chair's absolute hell on your back. I would've warned you, Mr. Thief -- but, well, you didn't ask.
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