an anecdote of my house being burglarized

Last night I came home from work to find some of our front windows smashed in.

It's a very surreal experience, having your own house broken into.

They hardly took anything. In fact, the only thing we have identified as missing is my monogrammed jewelry box that my mom gave me for Christmas a couple of years ago. Let me tell you, those robbers were not smart enough to realize that any girl with a plastic dresser does NOT have expensive jewelry.

The cop who was dispatched to respond to my phone call walked around the house for a while until the crime unit came (in the form of a stocky man named Harry who mumbled things that sounded hilarious) and dusted for finger prints. It was all very uneventful. Roomie/landlord was pretty pissed and had to get wood from Lowe's to cover the smashed stained glass windows. We all had plans to be productive that night and instead were relegated to waiting around for the police to finish and then eating everything in sight since it was 8:30pm and, seeing as how we hadn't eaten dinner, we were quite hungry.

Thankfully, those crazy robbers didn't take the TV or any computers or anything expensive like that. My guess is they got spooked when the alarm went nutso after the 30 second grace period and, as they fled the scene, the top of my jewelry box flew open to spill contents all over the front lawn (it took me a while to collect my things. Earring studs hide well in grass and dirt). Thankfully, my grandma's pair of glass mosaic earrings were one of the first I found in the grass. My fleur-de-lis earrings were neary (this is actually the second pair of fleur-de-lis earrings I have from New Orleans, the first pair having mysteriously disappeared in my parents' house).

Things that unfortunately went missing: assorted necklaces and earrings people have given to me after traveling to far-off places. My hieroglyph name cartouche from Egypt. The pearl necklace and earrings from my mother as well as the matching bracelet I wore to my sister's wedding. My Randolph-Macon class ring.

We have concluded that it was someone inexperienced, probably a couple of kids. This makes me really sad. And mad. It breaks my heart that we still live in a society where it is acceptable to teach children the art of breaking and entering so that they can steal people's memories.

Me and my roommates, we got lucky. We didn't lose much materialistically, and what we did lose is easily replaceable. But I think we all also lost our sense of safety. And that might take a while to get back.