Wednesday, June 3, 2009

This time...

I've had laundry stolen before. No big deal, because there was always something left behind. They'd take a shirt...or a towel...

But this time, whoever stole my laundry, TOOK EVERYTHING I OWNED! With the exception of a few clothes that don't fit, or are in such condition that they'd be embarrassing to wear in public, I have nothing but what I'm wearing. Included in the theft were those wonderful diabetic socks a friend sent. The five new shirts I bought last month...gone. My one surviving bath towel...gone. And as I type this, I await a call back from the police to file a report of some kind...although what they can actually do to help, I have no idea.

Edit/Update: Well, G-d bless Xanax. Toward the end of writing the first part of this post, I could already feel myself coming unstrung. I wanted to call numerous people, but what was there to say or do at that moment. All I'd do is cry and, and those on the other end would be helpless.

But when Officer Carl called, I was already taking this in stride...kinda. What helped was an almost immediate e-mail, asking me for my sizes and the like. It's actually not all that helpful, as I need to replace what's been lost IMMEDIATELY. Tomorrow, when I shower, I'll be drying myself with old shirts that I normally use as dust rags. Then I'll have to buy clothing...a regrettably large amount of clothing. So what I'll need after that is money to survive the month.

Meanwhile, Officer Carl took my report, gave me what information I need to follow up in the report. He was ultimately impressed that I was probably the most pleasant victim, especially when I went off on how grotesque it is to steal someone else's underwear! I'm not saying there's anything particularly disgusting in my underwear, but the concept is just disturbing.

My oddest moment during the call was when he gave me the report number. It starts with 2009, which is fairly obvious. This number is the year. The case number went on with another eight digits, and a part of me hoped that there would be very few cases reported like mine. I suppose I was hoping for the sense of comfort that the world remained a fairly safe place, and that the phone report would be number 2009 0000 0001. Let me be one of the rare victims. But, no...I can only go as far as to say there are multiples of 10,000,000 cases like mine.

Officer Carl also asked the approximate value of my loss, and I foolishly thought that the Phoenix Police would have some kind of slush fund for victims like me. No...It was just part of the report, so I told him I'd lost a dozen Armani shirts.

For all the ways I'm trying to bend my mind toward the less traumatic of this whole thing, I find myself experiencing emotions that I have, unfortunately, experienced entirely too often. It starts with a mugging back when I was in my mid-teens. I celebrated my 21st birthday by having a finger (and my face, a bit) broken by a drunken troublemaker whom my youngest brother warned was the wrong person to file charges against; said troublemaker had a father with money and clout, and I should take my wounds and be glad that's all that happened. Then there was the robbery at gunpoint in my mid-twenties; I tell ya, there's nothing quite like starting at a gun aimed at your chest. Finally, that beating I took while I was asleep in the boarding house. In the last three hours, plus, I've been living all of the "joyous" effects of PTSD, along with the extras that come with depression that is still trying to come under control as I get back on my meds.

Tomorrow, I will be spending almost all of my money on rant, clothing, with the leftovers going to food. So, rather than waiting until mid-month, here I am, in a genuine crisis. I would love to make a list of my needs, but tomorrow, I'll be wandering the world in an ancient tee shirt with sweat marks that are more embarrassing than anything else. My socks will be mismatched. The jeans I'll be wearing...well, here's hoping I'll be able to breath, as the waistline is a couple is a few inches too small.

I usually try to ease my way into this kind of thing, but I'm flat out begging. If there are those who can, please contact me. Simply leave a comment with your e-mail, and I can send you what information you need to help me. Your comments will NOT be published with your contact info; they come to my e-mail for approval first, only because I like to make sure no foul comments make their way to my blog.

So, my friends...I've taken more meds. My hope is that I'll get some rest before the busy day ahead of me. I'll need to be up early, and that's a task unto itself. Please, my friends...If you can help, I am openly begging for it.

3 comments:

Black Pants Guy said...

Who the Hell steals Laundry? what filthy little buggers!

Rob Meadows said...

I'm of a mind that it was done out of vindictiveness. They have imagined reasons as to what I've done. Just one example is that they think I'm a snitch. They believe I take every complaint against my neighbors to the main office, which I haven't done in ages.

The new management couldn't care less about what goes on here, as long as rent is paid. I even joked with one of the maintanence crew that I'm going to start running drugs, weapons and hookers out of my apartment, to which he said, and I quote, "That's great!" When I asked if it would be okay to set up a meth lab, he said, "Sure, go ahead."

Of course, he knows me better than that. I'm one of the few neighborhood nice guys, and that's probably why my laundry was stolen. I have "victim" practiaclly painted all over my face.

Kind of creepy, beyond the included theft of my underwear, was the taking of some of my socks. I literally tear through those things entirely too fast, so I'll keep them until there are holes in them. Which means that some of them, which still intact, are stained with blood from the ulcer that is occasionally healed on my left foot. It's disgusting, really. And for all I know, they looked at those literally bloody socks and started to wonder what the hell might be wrong with me. Perhaps a feeling of regret ran through them, and they became terrified to return my clothing when they realized it would only bring them a world of trouble...

...but in reality, they probably kept what they could, and threw away what they couldn't keep. Thus, my world sucks.

Valiant Turtle said...

That's just evil. I might be able to paypal you something tonight. I'll have to check our finances.

In the meantime, what sizes do you wear? Maybe some of us can raid our closets for stuff we've outgrown or just don't wear anymore, and maybe raid some local thrift stores while we're at it.