Tuesday, June 12, 2018

Microstory 862: Family of Thieves

When I was a child, I wanted to be a police man when I grew up. As I got older, though, I started becoming disillusioned with our justice system. I am one hundred percent against the use of recreational drugs, but I also don’t think cops should be wasting my tax dollars prosecuting mild offenders, especially not since true rehabilitation would be a better use for that money. I think prostitution should be completely legal, that there should be no statute of limitations on rape and sexual assault, and immigrant families should be kept whole. I quickly forgot my dreams of joining law enforcement, and ended up becoming an accountant. Boring, I know, but I make decent money, and I don’t take my work home with me. I am not exactly known for my social skills, and since I don’t drink, there aren’t a lot of opportunities to meet women. Most of my friends met their significant others at work, but that’s not a great idea either, because the only girls there that I don’t find incredibly boring are the ones who think that I’m boring. I can’t disagree with them either. Then just last week, my company decided to start handing out free lunches, and getting rid of our lunch hours. Some dumbass upstairs convinced them that paying for a thirty minute lunch break would be more cost effective than letting each worker be unproductive for an hour each business day. I guess I shouldn’t say that; Bill’s a pretty smart guy, and it’s the executives that are stupid for believing his BS. Anyway, I get off a half hour early now, and never have to think about where I’m gonna eat every day. Bonus, the girl who rolled the cart around with these sack lunches was absolutely gorgeous. Fortunately, my office was near the far corner of the lowest floor, which meant she was done with her work by the time she got to me. Lady, as unbelievable as the name sounds, immediately started eating with me, even though I never invited her. How perfect that she came to me, I thought. It wasn’t until two days ago that I realized she was just using me.

Our company was robbed, big time. The only files not taken were the ones I had anything to do with, so I started suspecting that the lunch girl, whose name could not possibly have been Lady, was protecting me. They didn’t take any money, but the data they did steal would likely fetch a pretty penny on the identity market. Most of our clients can afford to hassle with their bank on disputed charges, so it’s not exactly Robin Hood, but she’s not the devil either. Thank God the executives are so dumb, or they might have been suspicious of me. Anyway, I used what few detective skills I had to track down Lady. I was planning to confront her with what I knew, but one look at her with a messy updo, and sweat pants, and I couldn’t remember what I was going to say. I found myself asking her out, which she obliged, apparently not at all creeped out that I found her home. We had our date that evening, and I followed her upstairs that night. I woke up for the bathroom in the middle of the night, and heard a muffled conversation downstairs. Hopelessly curious, I tiptoed to the top of the stairs, so I could listen. Her whole huge family was discussing what they were going to do with me, now that it was obvious I had figured out their scheme. Lady—which actually is her real name; she showed me her driver’s license—was advocating to read me into their group, but others wanted to eliminate me. Desperate for my life, I snuck back into Lady’s room, stole her television set, and snuck out the window. Once home, I placed my new TV on the floor, and sat down in my dinette, sipping a ginger ale, and hoping my audacity is enough to impress Lady’s family. This is where I have been all morning. As I’m nodding off, I begin to hear scratching at my door, which quickly opens to reveal a guy about Lady’s age, so I infer that he’s her brother. “Nice try,” he says, “but you’ll have to go bigger if you want to audition for us.”

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