When someone or something has irked me my mannerisms and body
language completely changes. Apparently, expletives explode from me more
frequently. Few things bother me more than having to suspend the writing
process when I am in the middle of a groove.
Yet, that is what happened Tuesday night when a random
Austin number called me. I figured it was a source trying to get in contact
with me about something.
Nope. It was a friend of a friend of a friend of the man who
burglarized my home 15 months ago. Apparently, this gentleman is facing a few decades
in prison because he is a habitual offender.
Among other charges
he’s faced in his life: aggravated assault, aggravated assault with a deadly
weapon, kidnapping, cocaine possession, possession of meth with intent to sell
and a few more. There were others, but I couldn’t write them down nearly as
fast as the prosecutor reeled them off to me.
Upon receiving the call, I felt a bit bad for the guy who
burglarized me. His friend of a friend of a friend told me he was facing “25 to
life.” As a 27 year old man, serving 25 years in a cell just seemed so
excessive to me. (Of course that was before I found out this man’s rap sheet
was longer than Warren Buffett’s resume.)
I even contemplated calling someone in Florida to ensure the
alleged party only served 10 years. But colleagues, friends and others all
reminded me that if someone was dumb enough to break into my home, they deserve
whatever comes their way. (Of course that was before I found out this man’s rap
sheet was deeper than Kim Kardashian’s To-Do list.)
Throughout Tuesday night, I wondered whether I am too nice a
person. The supposed bribe of “money or whatever you need” from the friend of a
friend of a friend didn’t sway me as much as the prospect of someone being a
permanent resident of Raiford, Florida. (Of course that was before I found out
this man’s rap sheet was bigger than Osama bin Laden’s porn collection.)
My fiancé likes to tell people I have a strong moral
compass, which only serves to convict me when I’m not doing the right thing.
But, I could just imagine what she would say as I waffled on calling district
attorney asking them to find a way to stop the annoying phone calls in
mid-sentence.
I was tempted to take the easy way out. Of course that was
before I found out this man’s rap sheet was so extensive he knows how to find
victim’s telephone number in the police report.
Laughs and liveliness,
-Wb
