Friday, May 2, 2014

Some Fucker Stole My Wallet!

The bastard snuck onto my front porch, reached in through my bedroom window where - due to feng shei difficulties my stuff is located reasonably close - and stole my wallet while I slept, leaving only a broken window, a startled cat and me emotionally and materially poorer!

I could forgive the $40+ that he got away with, but the other stuff - business cards, medicare cards, photo id, birth certificates, TFNs... yeah, yeah, you're all so smart saying it was stupid for me to put them in one wallet but goddamn it with the current beaurocracy in this country you more often than not need them at a moment's notice! And since I only expected to LOSE my wallet rather than have it STOLEN, I think I should be forgiven for lax security in my own home!

Worst of all, worst of all, the bitterest pill is I know who did it.

See, there was this down and out bloke on a bike with a dayglo vest and a crash helmet a couple of years ago who had lost his own wallet - or so he claimed - and was going door to door asking for charity, offering to do any odd jobs as recompense. It was late afternoon and I saw him go through one street and then another, getting no response. Feeling damned sympathetic and charitable, I gave him $50 and politely told him to fuck off and sort his shit out. He was pathetically grateful and went on his way.

Then he turned up again, desperate for rent. Or for busfare to Canberra. Or because the local underbelly mafia had kidnapped his poodle and was threatening to cut it up for cash. And yes that last one is genuinely what he told me. He turned up at my door, at my window, in the street, asking for money like some demented capitalist seagull.

But this wasn't some 24/7 bombardment. Months would elapse between seeing him. Certainly enough time for him to credibly have fallen into a fresh disaster. But I told him no. Repeatedly. Distinctly. Emphatically. When he started tapping on my window and waking me first thing in the morning, I added the distinctive proviso that ever since I'd given him money, I'd lost my job so if anyone should be seeking charity, it would be me. It was irritating rather than creepy, and he apologized and went off on his way, vowing never to return at least for the next quarter.

Now it seems he turned up, but instead of the usual wake-up-poor-Ewen routine stole my wallet instead.

If I knew his real name, address, occupation or indeed anything about him, I'd set the pigs on him! And not just pigs, the gigantic mutant bushswine from sadly-underwhelming Razorback!



Phil Sandifer said...

You deserve it for being such a privileged shitlord, it is clear that if you were not immensely intelligent, well-read and privilege-checking like me, there would've been no theft.

Youth of Australia said...


Um. Sorry?

Jeez, I didn't think Phil Sandifer would start heckling me. I hated the Celestial Toymaker way before it was cool to do so.