Candidate for the worst day in my life

So I returned home early for our bi-weekly laundry. Harish was waiting outside the house for me with some terrible news: we had a break-in (and yes, we do suspect someone, but that doesn't help us much). Some of Mahesh's stuff (the VCR, the DVD player, his expensive mountain bike) was taken and I now no longer have a guitar. My Alvarez is gone. We dialled 911 to report it. About 45 minutes later, with no sign of the cops, I called in again. Turns out since it was near rush hour all the cops had been deployed to handle traffic in downtown. So, they hadn't made even a despatch. They asked me to call back again for an update. 20 minutes later it was the same story. Another 20 minutes later (after I saw a few police cars -- actually it was the same car -- pass by) I called in to make sure they hadn't missed my house. My call coincided with the policeman finding us and he came in to make the report. After that, we were left to the mercy of the evening and a damaged door. To top it all, I had a phone interview and being stupidly brave I made the best of it, instead of opting out for a later date. Needless to say, I didn't exactly cut it. Moral of the story: Don't be so numbed by experiences as to appear inadequately stoic. Sleep was difficult although I turned in early, and the dreams didn't help either. Do we suspect anyone? Sure. A prospective tenant for the adjoining house who spoke to us the previous evening. But then, maybe it was coincidence. In any case, pondering over this issue will not help matters. I must thank the heavens nothing critical was stolen.

Come to think about it, the thief must have been a moron in a hurry. Apart from the obvious items, he missed a lot of stuff that one would think was worthy of a theft, yet he managed to filch a few shirts and undergarments(dirty ones at that, kept aside for laundry). At this point, I don't know if I should be laughing out loud. The loss of my guitar makes me feel like Judith Evelyn's character in The Tingler. Here's hoping the miscreants suffer from chronic itches and inflammations.

{June 18, 2002}: Ironically, the castle of soda cans I had been building on my desk was also smashed when I came in to work today.