A Lesson In Crime

So first off, I was wrong.

Way back in post #1, I thought, or rather HOPED, my life would get incrementally more exciting every day that this blog existed. This has definitely not happened, and if anything, I can say I've comfortably adjusted to the life of your average 90-year-old.

I pick 90 as my "actual" age because my next door neighbour also happens to be my Granny. Let me explain. Granny - also affectionately known as Gran-Dogg, The Grannery, or G-Dizzle (embarassing but yes, seriously) - turns the big 9-0 this August and I can confidently say she's busier than I am at this point in time.

Established 1918. The Woman. The legend.

While she's busy birdwatching, out gardening for hours on end, or just generally doing whatever else is takes to be cute and old, I've been at home for 2 weeks and have resorted to... alphetbetizing the family VHS collection? Re-arranging the silverware by size and weight? I knew I'd reached rock bottom when I resorted to plucking my leg hairs individually.

Needless to say, my mom will say she has plenty of jobs around the house to keep me more than busy but... let's put that aside for now. I'd like to say I could get a job and make myself useful in other ways - particularly ways that add to my bank account - but seeing as how I'm only home for 3 weeks that's not too realistic (or at least this is a good way to justify it). Plus, I thought it'd be a nice chance to unwind and take a break after 4 years of backbreaking work at ASU. (Please keep reading after you settle your laughter). Ok, really it just wasn't realistic to try to get a job for 3 weeks and it HAS been nice to spend some quality time with the parental units so I shouldn't be complaining at all.

Lucky for me, spending a significant chunk of quality time with the parents has yielded some interesting stories. Since my life is so engrossing of late, I'll live vicariously through my dad on this one and recount a story he told me he had at work recently...

It starts out as any other ordinary day. Gary heads off to work, sack lunch in hand comprising the same 3 sandwiches - 2 ham-and-cheese and a peanut butter and jam - he's been eating for the last 3o years.

Tangent: My brother and I once sat down and tried to calculated the estimated number of sandwiches my father has eaten since he started working for Greyhound back in the 70's. According to our math: roughly 12 a week x 48 weeks a year x 30 years = An astounding 17,280 sandwiches. Give or take a couple thousand since he tends to eat at least an additional one a day while not at work. 17,280! Unreal. The man's a machine. His net carb intake has to be off the charts, especially when he indulges in his favourite type of sandwich - the Breadwich. No need for fillers or condiments folks. No, this is just pure, unadulterated bread at its finest. Basically it consists of a slice of bread as a filler between 2 slices of bread... 3 slices stacked on top of each other, sandwich style. Simple, yet effective. It should be noted, a Breadwich is most perfectly concocted using ONLY bread from Bee-Bell Bakery in downtown Edmonton. Our family has buying bread only from there since they opened, and let's be honest - the Meeks have kept the place afloat through many a hard time since let's crunch some more numbers... 17,280 sandwiches = 34,560 pieces of signature Cracked Wheat.

Anyway, one day, Gary's confidently manhandling The 'Hound (translation: driving le bus) as he has many times during the past 30 years of honest work. He's truckin' along, scratch that BUS-ING along, enjoying the sights and sounds of some scenic Alberta highway, when a passenger comes up looking more than a little distraught. Anticipating this wouldn't be a routine complaint about the A/C or the smell in the washroom, Gary inquires as to what is the problem. The guy half-yells that someone has stolen his wallet. My dad, cool as a cucumber asks for the details, obviously expecting some sort of story or verbal communication of some kind. Instead, the guy just turns around to reveal the backside of his jeans, back pocket-less! Someone obviously had not just sticky fingers but a sticky scalpel or scissors of some kind (?) and had succesfully removed not only the wallet but just snipped around it and removed the entirety of the man's jeans pocket as well! Obviously that was one bad sleeping position. I imagine this might be hard to picture so imagine something like this:

Instead of lips though, picture your wallet. Or where your wallet once was...

Brilliant? Ridiculous? Hilarious. Well sucky for that guy actually. Not only are you out a wallet (been there done that. It was brutal). But also say good-bye to a perfectly good pair of jeans. The perpetrator, or The Perp as I like to call him/her, just killed 2 birds with one stone. (The other bird being defacement of property as well?)

Anyway, the story got me thinking... maybe in my last week off at home I ought to research going into this line of work. Obviously the days of pickpocketing are no more... Today it's more like Total Pocket Removal. Creative, efficient, and totally unprecedented. Yikes. Remind me to protect my pockets next time I fall asleep on any form of public transport...