My phone was stolen out of my pocket while I was asleep on the train on Friday night. Some of you may be saying “Well, you do live in NYC, Ryan! This is what happens!” NO. BULLSHIT. This shouldn’t happen anywhere, and it’s ludicrous to suggest that we’re all living on borrowed time when it comes to holding on to our possessions before they’re inevitably taken from us. Like people who steal are owed the shit they’re stealing, and they’re just collecting on a past-due balance. This sort of shoulder-shrugging indifference only comes into play when the location of the theft is a crowded metropolitan area, and it usually comes from the type of people who “went to NYC once, but that Times Square was just so crowded! I’LL NEVER GO BACK AND YOU DESERVE IT FOR LIVING IN THAT DEN OF SIN!”
Isn’t that a ridiculous thing to think? That a crime’s impact varies based on where it’s committed? If somebody steals a car in Bumblefuck, Kentucky, the owner of that car is just as screwed as someone whose car is stolen in Los Angeles. Both victims are still going to have a hard time getting to work the next day, and no amount of bullshit rationalization as to why the crime occurred is going to help them. But I digress.
So I realized my phone had been stolen, I filed a police report, and I got home around 8 AM. I slept for a bit, then headed into the city to the AT&T store, where I found out that I could either A) pay a $200 deductible through my insurance to get a replacement phone, or B) pay $500 for a new phone. Great fucking options, right? At that point, I was so fed up with the whole situation that I got a new SIM card and went to Radio Shack, where I purchased the underwhelming device I currently hold in my hands. All in all, a rough day, but I did have plenty of time to think about the fate I would like to befall the man (I’m assuming it was a man) who stole my phone. After much thought, I came to the conclusion that I couldn’t decide on just one fate; as such, here is a comprehensive list of things I hope happen to the cocksucking, asshole piece of shit who took my phone.
Fate 1: I hope you stole my phone to help raise money for your dying mother’s medical bills. Unfortunately, because my phone is pretty much outdated, you aren’t able to raise nearly enough, and you can do nothing but watch helplessly as death comes for her, that sweet woman who did her very best to raise you only to be reminded on a daily basis through your actions that you’ll never achieve the heights she hoped you might. Oh, and I hope her last breath is spent lecturing you on stealing from other people instead of telling you she loves you.
Fate 2: I hope you stole my phone to fund an out-of-control drug habit that, revitalized with a sudden influx of cash gleaned from the theft and sale of my phone, results in your procurement of a higher-grade bag of heroin. Unused to such quality, you immediately nod off and crash through a plate-glass window, landing in a dumpster four stories below that happens to be filled with broken glass iPhone screens that slice your body to ribbons.
Fate 3: I hope you have children who desperately want iPhones for Christmas. Knowing that you can’t afford the 5S, you did the next-best thing: you stole my phone, thinking it would be good enough for your children. However, since you spent your children’s formative years stealing from people instead of instilling proper values in your kids, they have grown into materialistic monsters. Christmas morning comes, and you watch as the children open their gifts, only to roll their eyes and sigh. “Dad,” they say, “this is an iPhone 4S. We wanted the 5S. You are a terrible father.” Distraught, you trudge upstairs, draw up a warm bath, get in, and slide a razorblade across your veins, just one final selfish act in a lifetime already jam-packed with them. Nobody attends your funeral.
Fate 4: I hope you were staring at the screen of your new iPhone, elated at the prospect of finally having a decent phone. And then you got hit by a bus.
Fate 5: I hope you develop an ulcer from the guilt and you have to sell my phone to pay your medical bills, but on your way to meet the potential buyer of the phone, you fall asleep on the train…and a homeless man cuts your throat.
Fate 6: I hope you hate yourself for what you’ve done, and I hope you live to be 150 years old with the guilt weighing on you.
So to whoever stole my phone: enjoy it, you piece of shit, and may any (or all) of the aforementioned fates befall you.