Just when life threatened to get dull...

     I'm feeling nostalgic for yesterday's post about life being slow and uneventful. Sometimes things get exciting in ways you'd rather they wouldn't.

     To dispense with all foreshadowing and suspense, we were robbed last night. While we slept, someone came into the house and took all three laptops, four cameras, my wallet, my ATM card, and a pile of cash I had just withdrawn from the ATM yesterday.

     To be clear, it was completely my fault. Despite frequent reminders from Steve and all our Khmer friends, I didn't lock the door when I went to bed. I could tell you why it's so hard to remember to do so after 48 years of never locking my house, but sometimes I just plain don't bother because I like to believe that nothing bad will ever happen to me. So I didn't lock it. And at 6:15 this morning, in a 90-second period we went from confusion ("Where did I leave my laptop...?") to the sinking realization that many things were missing, and I understood what everyone has warned me about.

     I wondered if we were targeted because we are foreigners, and was somehow consoled by the fact that they had also tried to break into the landlord's ground-floor living quarters. In fact, they cut a screen downstairs and reached in through the security bars to grab a bag from a bedroom, but ditched the bag when it didn't contain anything of value. Then they stole the mosquito racquet off the landlord's front porch so they could use the light on the racquet to see while they came upstairs and helped themselves to our valuables. (We know this because they left the racquet behind in our living room, further confusing us in the morning until we unravelled the whole story.) We all slept through the whole thing.

     They did leave some things behind in the corner of the yard: my purse, emptied of the wallet but still containing bug spray and my Epi-Pen; Steve's bag, minus his cash but still containing his glasses and some other items; and a water bottle that they must mistaken for something of value because it was in a neoprene case. Sovann and Steve gathered up all the detritus in a pile in the driveway, and then the debate about whether to call the police began.

     The general feeling was that the police would just cause a lot of bother and nuisance without being any help, but in the end, our friend Chamnan called them and the police came. Over the course of the next three hours, a total of nine different police officers arrived to hear the tale over and over and to take photos of all the places where our belongings had once been. (A photo of the empty desk is helpful in what way...?) They drew crude sketches of the neighborhood and of the layout of our house, filled out many forms that required my thumbprint and signature, asked for multiple copies of our passports and visas, and smoked many cigarettes. Sovann patiently told the story over and over again for them, and they each clucked in disapproval when they heard that the door had not been locked. They asked for lists of what was stolen, they asked how long we lived here, they asked Jaz why she and Sovann weren't married yet, and they asked to be told yet again where each item had been before it was stolen. As the hours ticked away, I was thankful that there was little risk of my ATM card actually being used here, but wondered how long it would take to get a new one after I reported it stolen. Several times, I thought about taking photos of all the serious-looking officials on the balcony doing their very serious police work, and then I remembered that I had no camera. I emptied the ashtray and offered water and chuckled when I heard that they (like everyone else) had asked how much we pay for rent.

     The most helpful reactions I got were these:

• Chamnan, who is tall enough that my head rests in the crook of his shoulder, just hugged me and patted my back for a long time, which made me cry like a baby
• Sovann went out after the police left and bought a case of beer with the helpful advice, "You should drink it all today, Mum!"
• Jaz stayed calm and matter-of-fact, reminding me that getting too upset about all of this was kind of like complaining that my "diamond shoes are too tight, and my wallet won't hold all my hundred-dollar bills!" In other words, we are still so much more fortunate than so many. We were lucky enough to have all those things that were stolen, and we're lucky enough to be able to replace them. She also reminded me that all the 57 things that I just posted about being thankful for are things I probably still have. Gotta love that girl.

     So damn it - my fucking diamond shoes are too tight! And my wallet is too --- oh, wait a minute, my wallet is history. (I did love that wallet.) But here I am, in Cambodia, living the good life. Could be worse.

     (Sorry. No photos again for this post, for obvious reasons.)