Imbeciles. Delinquents. Degenerates. Despicables. Vermin. *Fu.. Assholes. All words that accurately describe people who take what they want even if the thing they take doesn’t belong to them. *Frigging thieves…
I became another statistic last week. And here is the short version simply because I’m tired of telling the long one. Five colleagues went on a business trip. They stopped for lunch because I was hungry. Some *lesser human jammed the car’s remote signal. The five got back with their stomachs full and the car empty. The car was missing two laptop bags. *Wonderful. Coincidentally, both of the laptop bags contained laptops. And not just any laptops, my laptop. And my passport. I was extremely annoyed and expressed my emotion by speaking in a third language, one that could best be described as a lot of cussing.
This was a petty crime. No-one was injured, if only for the fact that I didn’t catch the culprits. If we did, there would have definitely been some people with broken knee-caps and/or jaws. Depending on how big the thieves were… There was no damage to the car prior to us discovering the theft, now there’s a slight dent on the driver’s side back door. I was frustrated o-kay. Can you blame me? It’s an invasion of my privacy. And it’s my laptop.
If you travel extensively, you’ll know that a laptop becomes much more than a simple piece of technology. It becomes everything is was never designed to be. It becomes more than a directory of spreadsheets and presentations. It’s not just a collection of visit reports, price lists and pie-charts. It becomes your life. A companion that comforts you through many lonely hours waiting on a plane.
But then you have writers. Tormented souls who use the laptop in a very different way. Writing is my tonic. It’s a magic potion that lifts my mood just like them boobs on Meryl Streep in Death Becomes Her. Writing has the ability to organize the mess that is my mind. It has a way of relaxing me, a brain-massage with some kind of magic sedative. And in the same moment it revitalize me, re-charging my spirit like an elixir of the gods. It heals me. It uplifts me. It calms me down. It provides joy. It provides relief. It makes me a better human. Writing is my addiction and when I cannot write I want to die. Without touching me, those bastards almost killed me, just like the first 10 minutes of the movie Up.
My laptop is like a second wife. Someone who understands me, someone who doesn’t judge me, someone who accepts me for whoever person I decide to be when I start writing. Albeit a funny man, or a serious man, or an opinionated man, or a loving one. Irrespective of who I become it waits patiently as I turn my thoughts into words and sentences. (It has the added benefit of having the courtesy of keeping it’s mouth shut even if it disagrees.)
And I lost mine. I was left naked and alone, scared and confused. The little orphan boy who is looking out the window as the nice couple drives away with someone else in their back seat. My wife was stolen. Along with all my notes and drafts. I have to admit that on the night of the crime I did receive some counselling. Traumatic experiences are normally handled better by professionals. I would like to take this opportunity to thank my helpers, two guys who stood by me in that dark hour, two guys who took away my pain. Thanks Mr Jack Daniels and Mr Johnny Walker.
Fortunately this is a Disney movie. There is a happy ending. My employer expects me to continue with my work and didn’t seem to hyped on the idea of paying me a salary to do nothing. So I got a new laptop. A new wife. An upgrade if you will, as this was one is a faster model. I promise that I will treat this new wife with more respect. I will definitely take better care of her. I’ll even protect her with my life. (That’s a lie, but I’ll do my best.) I’ll even consider making a back-up every so often.
I would just like to add that I sincerely wish that the *fabulous people who stole my laptop, ends up with bunions in their arse.
*This post was edited for content, it was de-f-bombed.