Breaking the streak

The other day I was sitting in a coffee shop doing important work on my computer, i.e. staring half-mindlessly out the window, when I decided it was time to ride my bicycle home. I packed up my computer and slung it over my shoulder, waving bye to the friendly neighborhood baristas. I hopped on my bike for the maybe less than 10 blocks to my house, pedaling off all the while whistling a friendly tune.
As I pushed maybe my fourth downstroke of a pedal, clouds suddenly gathered and the rain gods decided to let loose. I mean, really just let us have it, like someone really pissed them off. Baseball-sized hail started pelting from the sky. Maybe it was a little smaller, but that’s what it felt like: baseballs hitting my face.

Cars splashed past me; drivers laughing at my misfortune while I huffed and puffed pathetically forward. I eyeballed anything I could use for shelter, but home was just so close, and there was a warm lonely puppy dog waiting for me.
So I persisted. Finally rolling into my driveway, I blasted through my front door, dripping, heaving, baseball-welted, defeated.
I set my wet bag of important electronics on the table, said “hi” to my pup, turned back around, and swear to the rain gods, the rain had stopped, and the gosh darned sun had come out!
This is how my luck has been going as of late.
Postdating back, this bad luck streak semi-started about six months ago with my now post-boyfriend’s own misfortune, which he kindly, though unintentionally, gifted to me.

His truck was broken into early one morning. The scumbag thief took a couple thousand dollars worth of mostly climbing gear – my shoes and backpack included – a wallet and a few other items before fleeing to a nearby gas station to fill up his car’s tank using post-boyfriend’s credit card.
But what comes around goes around. Not that karma found Scumbag, and he got what was coming for him. No, he, or she, was never caught. But, what comes around goes around, just in that history repeats itself.
I must preface this next part with upmost important details: 1) I work for and deliver newspapers for the Durango Telegraph. 2) I may or may not leave old, uneaten food in my truck’s console from time to time. Gross, yes, but trust me, you’ll need this information later.  
So, every Thursday morning – Telegraph delivery morning – I sleepily stretch out in bed, brew the darkest coffee possible, slap some peanut butter on a piece of bread, get in my truck and delivery happiness, aka the Telegraph, to venues around town.
During the delivery process, I also pick up the previous week’s leftover papers, and haphazardly toss them in the back seat of my truck where they pile up for as long as I can handle it before I toss them in the recycle bin. Which, because of my high threshold, can often can be a very, very long time.

And this is when history repeated itself, and also how the Telegraph broke my bad luck streak.
It happened earlyish during an otherwise ordinary delivery morning. I put some water on for coffee, wrangled my dog to go outside and use the facilities, and walked outside to greet the morning. When I looked out at my truck, though, I noticed the front driver’s side door was resting open. Rushing out in my sweat pants and unruly hair, while simultaneous giving a wave and acting cool toward my passing neighbor, I opened the door and saw my center console had been rummaged through. Half its contents were on the driver’s seat, including, but not limited to, a half-eaten piece of peanut butter bread, an avocado pit, some Gin Gins, a bottle of ibuprofin, a seriously scratched CD, and some possibly used tissues.
In other words, high-price items that had been surprisingly left behind.
A mental list started going through my head of all the things that might have been taken: I’d left my climbing harness, an old camera, some shoes, and a bunch of stuff from a recent camping trip in the back. A CD case was somewhere, and maybe some floating dollars? I looked around seeing none of them.
All I saw was the massively tall pile of old Telegraphs strewn about.
Had thief ever so graciously taken the pile off my hands, I would have been OK with that, and maybe even had a little respect for him, but we all can’t be that lucky.

I frantically started to dig under the mass of papers. It took me five minutes to get to the bottom and, eureka! My harness, camera and camping gear – all still there. I lifted up a singular Telegraph on the floor of the front seat. CDs still there! I lifted another pile of papers: helmet, a game of “Farkel” and old box of PBR – all still there.
So then what did thief take? I really don’t think anything … Perhaps a couple crumpled dollar bills?
After my nerves settled and I came to the realization that the thief’s luck was worse than mine, I tell a friend who had recently been in my truck and seen my mess of papers and old food.
“Well thank goodness for the Telegraph!” he responded. “Sheesh, this guy is obviously scum of the earth. I don’t know why he wouldn’t find some value in a half-eaten granola bar or an avocado pit.”
“You’re so lucky all that stuff was buried and hidden,” another friend replied.
That’s what I continue hearing, and telling myself. I am so lucky that the mountain of Telegraphs were there to be a better security system than me remembering to lock my own doors.
And that’s how the Telegraph kicked off what I hope will be an even longer winning streak.

– Jennaye Derge