Tuesday, August 16, 2005

True crime is nothing like 'Ocean's 11'.

The other night, while lording over some bottles of Steam Whistle like a despot, a great idea came to me.
I won't describe the great idea--it was to involve a theft of something relatively innocuous--but I will describe my plan. It involved a ladder which I likely shouldn't have been thinking about climbing, considering how many wow-ee pops I'd had to inspire me in the first place; nevertheless, my loving E turned me loose on an unsuspecting Parkdale, and I was ready for some Pink Panthering.
This 'recipe for disastrous hijinx' had but two ingredients: the first being myself; the second being a ladder.
I had myself.
Earlier in the week I had noticed a ladder in my neighbour's back yard--PERFECT!
I now possessed all the ingredients necessary. . .or did I?

Dressed in black, not by design, I shuffled into the neighbour's backyard, grabbed the ladder, and proceeded to walk away nonchalantly. My 'just out for a stroll in Parkdale under the cover of night' demeanour (an activity which, in truth, doesn't exist--EVERYONE 'strolling' in Parkdale at night is "working") lasted only until I ran out of arm's length; then the ladder, which refused to follow, and my hands (which refused to let go) worked in tandem to bring me flat on my back.
What. The. Fuck.
Being a bit on the 'tight' side, I stood, gave the ladder a scowl, and then grabbed it and gave another pull.
Still nothing.
Pull pull pull.
Nothing nothing nothing.
I couldn't budge the damn thing, and the whole time I'm thinking, "This puny ladder's got nothin' on me!".

That's when I heard, "Hello?", followed by a bunch of whispering.

Hearing someone's voice call to me brought about the gravity of my situation: I was dressed in black in someone's backyard wrestling with a ladder. It likely didn't look too good.
I kicked into acting mode, looked towards the sky and around the yard like I was confused or dumbstruck, then zig-zagged back down the driveway.

Two minutes later I was safely in my house watching ALL the neighbours search their 'estate' with flashlights and rakes.

Two days later, while my lovely E was having a visit with her bridesmaids from the 'burbs' (who already think we'll die a grisly death at the hands of some deranged crack whore) when our upstairs neighbour stopped to tell the ladies:

G- "Now E, I don't want you to worry, but two nights ago the next door neighbours had a PROWLER. He was trying to get a ladder to do God knows what, and one of them scared him away."

E's bridesmaids eyes are larger than saucers by now.

E- (in rehearsed horror)"Oh my!"

G- "Now, don't worry, THE POLICE WERE CALLED, and everything should be okay. Just maybe keep your windows closed."

E- "Okay. I will."

Cue the bridesmaids losing their shit, only to be comforted by E stating under her breath, "B was the prowler."

Do they make greeting cards they say something to the effect, "Sorry I was prowling around your yard last night. . ."?


B said...

Parkdale is to crime as:
Corey Haim is to Cory Feldman;
the Goonies are to "good enough";
Sloth Fratelli is to 'Baby Ruth'.

I never agreed to move to Parkdale, citing the crime; I DID agree to do whatever my loving fiancee told me to. Therefore, Parkdale became my happy home.

B said...


I can safely say that what I was planning on stealing wouldn't cost any of those whiny Hollywood stuntmen their jobs. ("When you download movies my kids have to wear New Balance!!")

Stuntmen on 'MacGyver' may have something to be worried about.