I woke up that Friday and pulled myself out of bed and down to the beach for a morning exercise of jogging, crunches, and swimming. It felt good. Before heading back I stopped and cashed in an I.O.U. for a massage. Then I hurried home, showered off the beach and did laundry (by hand) and left within the hour for the 2:15 massage appointment. It felt good. This was looking to be a good T.G.I.F. and I had only several more days in Mexico.
I went practically straight home after the massage to find my door open, my computer gone and the room a mess. My place was burgled...in broad daylight (3ish)! Stunning, disheartening, and terrible summed the mish-mash of my emotions in that moment. I was burglarized. Some motherfucker broke into my house, messed up my neat home, rifled through my things and stole what pleased his criminal desires. My laptop..cell phones...and cash: GONE. He hit up my next door neighbor as well. The two "gringos" in the building got got.
Stunning, disheartening, and terrible summed the mish-mash of my emotions in that moment. I was burglarizedAnd, of course, none of our Mexican neighbors, the devoutly theatrical God-fearing pagans that they are, saw or heard anything. That actually bothered me more than the burglary itself. I can never stomach cowards and complacency; maybe because, ultimately, those attributes are the stuff of weakness and hypocrisy. And the Mexican police? What a sad joke. Lazy, sorry ass do-nothings. The pig didn't even pretend to investigate the scene of the crime -- which I and the landlord had to telephone twice to come out. The malefactor left behind shoe and full hand prints. But that didn't interest the pig in the least. Are you kidding me?!
As I wrote in my journal later that night I suddenly realized the date was Friday the thirteenth. And, boy, was it ever.
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