Bad Luck Betty

That should be my new name. For this week at least....i just hope that nothing else adds to the fodder. In any case, at least I finally got something worth talking about.

The stroke of bad luck started Tuesday at work when on my way to make a delivery my bra snapped off, broken. Luckily I had a bikini top still in my car I was able to don. Unfortunately, it didn't help my getting lost and delivering the order probably almost an hour late, not to mention the ice boxes with the drinks broke on me during the hospital trek.

Fast forward to this morning--->> After not getting enough sleep, the doorbell rings twice at around 7:40 am, almost two hours after Michael has left and walked to his first day of work at the Mobile gas station down the street. Me trying to get in a last bit of sleep before I have to go in at work at 9, ignore it, figuring it's either someone trying to sell something, or my parents will answer it, since it is their house after all. About ten minutes later my mother opens my bedroom door and asks me if I heard the doorbell ring and if I had answered the door. I mumble "No". So, of course, she tells me to go answer the door, me being in a t-shirt and underwear, while she is fully dressed. I bitch and refuse, and she insists so I get up, but she goes to the door ahead of me, and so I follow, still in my underwear.

It's the neighbors from across the street I gather, and I haven't quite reached the door yet when I hear some commotion, and my mother begins to gasp and tell me that somethings happened to my window. From where I could see her standing, it looked like maybe they were just looking at the cracked windshield, which I of course already knew about, and thought my mother knew about. I shout, "Hey, if it's the windshield then I already know, that's been there!" But, this doesn't seem to have any effect on the two women, so I turn around and hurry to my room to don some shorts and shoes, worry slowly spreading, but being quelled by the certainty that it's just the neighbors being out of the loop and overreacting. Oh, if only.

The first thing I saw was the glitter strewn across the street when I rounded the corner --hundreds of tiny beautiful but scornful glass shards and cubes radiating from the giant chunk of of front passenger window that had stayed held together by the tinting film. The gaping hole where the window used to be beckoned you to peer into the car, which revealed the glove compartment door left ajar in their haste and carelessness. As an afterthought I noticed the crowbar dents left here and there along the edge of the window insulation. Taking a step back, the flat front tire made itself apparent, later found to be thanks to a small puncture wound.

We called the police, and the Deputy came, only doing what he was told, not very concerned or motivated to do anything but write down notes on his little pad of pre-printed report paper. While talking to the officer, a man who lives around the block stopped his truck and rolled down the window, giving the only possible clue to who the culprit was. "Yea, a few weeks ago my truck got broken into too. They smashed in the rear window. And you know, yesterday around lunch time, noon, there was this black guy with some crazy hair driving around in a green Honda...like a '92...just driving around the neighborhood real slow. "