Justin and I watched Bowling for Columbine on Friday night. Wow... it was gripping. It seems that everyone has some sort of opinion on Michael Moore -- he's just the kind of guy who incites a strong emotional reaction in most. Love him or hate him, agree with him or not -- it's hard not to admit the man makes brilliant documentaries. The last scene with a certain ancient NRA president/movie star was the best television I've seen since Oprah removed and then devoured the heart of James Frey live on her show.
Anyway, in one of the scenes, Michael Moore is interviewing Canadians and all of them are saying they don't lock their doors at night. Saying he finds all this a little overblown, M.M. goes through a neighborhood and opens a bunch of unlocked front doors, surprising the residents inside and apologizing for the intrusion. According to M.M., Canadians don't seem to be as afraid as we are. He explores reasons why that may be (the American news media in particular), but I remember thinking about the many times I've asked Justin as we've gone to bed -- "You locked the front door, right?" As we've left our apartment: "Is the front window locked?" As we've walked to school: "Did you lock the car?" It's a predictable question from me. With a predictable answer -- always "Yes."
I thought about that portion of the film quite a bit. Maybe I shouldn't be so concerned about whether or not things are locked up. Why subscribe to the fear? Isn't it totally silly to be so paranoid?
...And then my office at work was broken into over the weekend. One of my coworkers (who, in an odd twist, is Canadian) thinks she may have forgotten to lock the top lock as she left for the weekend. She walked in to find the door ajar and our computer gone, and, among the other pile of things taken, our appointment book. This seems like a small thing, unless you're the receptionist who schedules appointments. (I am the receptionist). What -- it's not enough to rip us off, you need to make our schedule hellish, too?
A few long and headache-filled days at work later, we're up and running again, and things are almost back to normal. We backed up our data off-site, so things were not as bad as they could have been. The new comp is up and running, after a Vista-XP battle to the death. (XP won). But the sense of violation remains. And the paranoia is... well, it's a little worse than usual. I love it when other people lock up the office because then I don't play "did-I-or-didn't-I-lock-the-door" all the way home. I jetted around the building yesterday to get a better look at a guy who'd been peering suspiciously into our windows as he walked by. Using my best spy moves, I got his license plate number, only to find later that he rents the office a few doors down from us. I've gone through our filing cabinets here at home and tried to figure out ways to secure our passports and birth certificates. I read through our insurance policy again.
Choosing not to play into a false culture of played-up fears is one thing. Trying not to worry when the world proves to you -- personally -- that it's a rather mean place, that's another. I've seen this before. When some idiot set fire to my brother's house and burned it to the ground the day before our wedding, I was reminded. When I saw Kevin on the news with his roommates explaining that people had looted the belongings that hadn't burned, I knew for sure that this is one sick place. I guess what's surprising is that I'm still taken by surprise.
Grudgingly, I have to admit I'm surprised by good things, too. In the middle of getting the computer set up on Tuesday, the office phone rang, and Maggie was on the other end. "I think we might have your appointment book and some other stuff? My husband found it at the park..."
I know, I know, I know. There's always something good that shows up in situations like this. And it's only stuff, after all. It could have been worse. I know all that.
But I've still been thinking more than I ought to about whether or not that front door is locked.
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