Super Unclassy, Bruh

I had the weirdest thing happen to me the other day.

I was hurrying to my car one morning for something that had the gall to make me wake up before 1pm on a Saturday. As usual, I had planned so masterfully that I had many minutes to spare. Then I let it get to my head, got lost in whatever task I had the luxury of doing with my extra time, and ended up fifteen minutes late instead of early. I know. I’m impressive. So I was rushing down my driveway, flustered and annoyed with myself for being so predictable, when I stopped short while pulling the car door open.

My car was a mess.

The napkins from my middle compartment were scattered everywhere, my passenger door was left slightly ajar, the contents of my glove compartment were splayed out across the floor and seats. It looked like someone had let loose a tantruming two year old in there or something.

My first thought:

Did my cheese finally slide off of its cracker? Did I go through a psychotic break in the middle of the night that I don’t remember?

My second thought:

No, wait. This might not actually involve any form of hysteria, although I can reserve the possibility of psychotic breaks and whatnot for a later date. I think I’ve been broken into…

Once I came to grips with that probability, I began examining what had been taken. After all, break-ins imply there have been some takings, right? Well…sort of. My burglar hadn’t taken my car bluetooth, which looks marginally expensive though I got it off of Amazon for pretty cheap. My burglar didn’t take the few blank checks my brother had idiotically left in some crevice of the car. Nope.

You want to know what my burglar took?

They took my guava pastries.

The crook took my guava pastries.

Yup. They must have been some prematurely reincarnated version of myself or something, because they didn’t target any of the valuables. No, no, no. Not of interest. How could one possibly assume a burglar was materialistic? No, they targeted the food. And what’s weirder? If the punk was hungry, why didn’t they take all of my food, huh? I had a couple boxes of croissants hanging out in there too, but they left that untouched.

They had the audacity to be picky.

If you’re gonna raid my car, do it right please. I’m almost offended.

Now to be fair, I did buy those guava pastries off of a random guy in a Walmart parking lot, so those pastries had sketchy written all over them to begin with. Regretful diarrhea was pretty much predicted, and accepted. But come on. I thought it at least safe to assume the guy wouldn’t follow me home and break into my car just to get them back.

Honestly, I should be worried about the implications of having possibly had a guy stalk me all the way to my house. It could quickly escalate to house break-ins and something ghastly could happen… They might graduate to stealing the Pillsbury cinnamon buns from my fridge.

Which would of course, be unforgivable.

So if you’re out there and you happen to be the one who reclaimed your pastries when they were happily sitting in my car:

Super unclassy, guy.

Kindly adhere to rules of the playground in the future.

No take-backs.

~LDA

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