Last night, on what was supposed to be the tail-end of a nice long weekend, our car was broken into and my bag--which I stupidly left on the floor of the car--was stolen. In my defense, I felt secure leaving it there because 1) the car was tinted, and 2) there was a security guard in the small parking lot. (And P.S. I know it was a bonehead move, so please, no more "be more careful next time" comments. What can I say? It was a heavy bag, and my husband was treating me to dinner so I didn't feel the need to lug it around, wallet and all.)
It was just a confluence of occurrences leading up to the perfect criminal storm. First, our dinner plans with the family were canceled. Then, the three--three!--other places we planned to dine in were all closed. Then, a big van was parked right beside our car, likely creating a blind spot for the restaurant security guard. As we walked into the resto, I saw some dude in a parked car, and I remarked, "I don't like the looks of that guy." Hamil, later on, said I should have listened to my gut. See, I wondered if he was a family driver. Because family drivers, from my experience of having them, normally sleep in the car, or listen to the radio, or stand by outside the restaurant. This dude was hunched over, hands grasping the steering wheel, eyes darting around. I really wondered what he was up to.
Next thing we knew, my husband found a broken rear window. And my bag was gone. My bag, with my wallet (and credit cards, ATM cards, cash, and, well, expired driver's license), one of my phones, my kikay kit! (Goodbye, MAC concealer, Black Honey Almost Lipstick, and vibrating mascara!) And I threw a massive bitch fit, right there on Shaw Boulevard. Note: The surest way to get someone to go into hysterics is to tell them to calm down when they're on the verge of a meltdown. (Isn't that right, Mr. Guard?) I couldn't understand how it could have happened when our car was (almost) right in front of the security guard. And, as earlier mentioned, our windows were tinted. (I was told that dem thieves shine flashlights into cars. Which made me think, "He had that much time?! Where the f* were the guards?") Luckily, the place was owned by a friend of mine, and he hurried over to help us sort things out. Apparently, this wasn't the first time it happened. You can imagine how thrilled he was with the security agency. But he did explain that these criminals were getting smarter, employing various tricks and tactics to distract the guard on duty. (Update: The city-installed CCTV cams were supposed to be working after they proved to be an epic failure during the last incident. Guess what? They're still not working. Nice going, Pasig City.)
For the first half of the evening, I was hysterical. For the other half, I was just dazed. I couldn't believe what had happened. I got busy canceling cards and cutting phone lines (I completely forgot that I had left my work phone at home, and had that cut too). My mom, bless her, helped me out. In the midst of this card-blocking frenzy, there was my husband, calm and collected as ever. It helped me decide to instead look at the bright side of things, the whole silver lining around this dark, dreary cloud: We didn't get hurt. The criminal/s didn't steal my shopping bags (I blew a bundle earlier that day, in preparation for my NY trip). He/she/they didn't scrounge around the car, so they missed our iPods and one of Hamil's phones. He/she/they didn't steal the car.
After filing a police report, we headed home. And, as expected, I cried. My husband gave me a big hug, letting me cry on his chest. It wasn't just this day, you see. The past week hadn't really been going my way, and I was just...beaten down. And my husband, arms around me, chin resting on my head, said, "It's just material things. We've got us."
And last night, before I slept, despite all the crap that happened, and the stuff that I lost, my prayer was still "Thank you." Because we've got us.
