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This morning Tery woke me up to tell me we had been broken into last night.
I would have greatly appreciated it if she had differentiated between "we" our own home and "we" the hospital, which is actually what she meant.
Evidently someone had climbed over the fence in the exercise yard (admittedly not hard to do), taken a ladder out of the outside shed (that I didn't even know was in there) and used a special tool to loosen the casement of one of the office windows sufficiently to pull it open and crawl in. All of this while the overnight woman was down in the laundry room.
Investigators are befuddled. The loot gained from this daring B & E was only a computer monitor and keyboard, barely worth $50 in a pawn shop. The perp left behind his crowbar and a pair of sunglasses. Wild theories abound, but I think my sister might have been onto something when she suspected the overnight woman herself, planning to retire by selling her spoils.
I'm a little freaked out. No, I wasn't there, but I could have been. Speculation about people casing the joint for weeks from surrounding buildings or treetops doesn't make me feel much better. The overnight woman is evidently unfazed (another reason to suspect her), but I'll never forget the one night I was convinced I heard someone walking around upstairs and I spent 10 minutes staring up the stairwell, in a cold sweat and utterly unable to breathe the entire time.
Tery is heightening security, though nothing will be done before my shift this weekend. She's having security cameras installed (which will effectively put an end to my stint of working topless). There's also talk of getting a Rottweiler to live in the exercise yard year-round. I said great, but who's going to protect me from the Rottweiler?
I'll be honest. Even though I'm not directly affected by this crime (this time), I'm still using it as an excuse to quit. Tery agrees; she doesn't want to have to worry about me either. But again, nothing can be done before this weekend, and if I don't go in then she'll have to, and I can't have THAT riding on my conscience.
~*~
Unrelated, I'm not one for posting baby pics, but this demanded it. This is Michael J., Tery's (and mine) newest nephew, son of her sis Michelle.
Okay, so his eyes are the wrong color. But the ears are dead on! And I think the mouth too.
~*~
However, I'm totally one for fangirl squeeing, and so I'm including the trailer for Alan Rickman's new movie, Snow Cake.
Alan plays a drifter who befriends Sigourney Weaver, a high functioning autistic. He also meets and has sex with next door neighbor Carrie-Anne Moss. And while it looks like another one of those "people with mental illness make the most profound statements about the world because they see things so much more clearly than us" movies, who cares because he has sex with Carrie-Anne Moss. Alan never gets to have sex with anyone, and I for one would not miss it for the world.
Furthermore, in this interview on a Canadian talk show, he mentioned being in Tim Burton's new movie, Sweeney Todd, singing a duet with Johnny Depp, no less. Oh yeah, baby.
I would have greatly appreciated it if she had differentiated between "we" our own home and "we" the hospital, which is actually what she meant.
Evidently someone had climbed over the fence in the exercise yard (admittedly not hard to do), taken a ladder out of the outside shed (that I didn't even know was in there) and used a special tool to loosen the casement of one of the office windows sufficiently to pull it open and crawl in. All of this while the overnight woman was down in the laundry room.
Investigators are befuddled. The loot gained from this daring B & E was only a computer monitor and keyboard, barely worth $50 in a pawn shop. The perp left behind his crowbar and a pair of sunglasses. Wild theories abound, but I think my sister might have been onto something when she suspected the overnight woman herself, planning to retire by selling her spoils.
I'm a little freaked out. No, I wasn't there, but I could have been. Speculation about people casing the joint for weeks from surrounding buildings or treetops doesn't make me feel much better. The overnight woman is evidently unfazed (another reason to suspect her), but I'll never forget the one night I was convinced I heard someone walking around upstairs and I spent 10 minutes staring up the stairwell, in a cold sweat and utterly unable to breathe the entire time.
Tery is heightening security, though nothing will be done before my shift this weekend. She's having security cameras installed (which will effectively put an end to my stint of working topless). There's also talk of getting a Rottweiler to live in the exercise yard year-round. I said great, but who's going to protect me from the Rottweiler?
I'll be honest. Even though I'm not directly affected by this crime (this time), I'm still using it as an excuse to quit. Tery agrees; she doesn't want to have to worry about me either. But again, nothing can be done before this weekend, and if I don't go in then she'll have to, and I can't have THAT riding on my conscience.
~*~
Unrelated, I'm not one for posting baby pics, but this demanded it. This is Michael J., Tery's (and mine) newest nephew, son of her sis Michelle.
Okay, so his eyes are the wrong color. But the ears are dead on! And I think the mouth too.
~*~
However, I'm totally one for fangirl squeeing, and so I'm including the trailer for Alan Rickman's new movie, Snow Cake.
Alan plays a drifter who befriends Sigourney Weaver, a high functioning autistic. He also meets and has sex with next door neighbor Carrie-Anne Moss. And while it looks like another one of those "people with mental illness make the most profound statements about the world because they see things so much more clearly than us" movies, who cares because he has sex with Carrie-Anne Moss. Alan never gets to have sex with anyone, and I for one would not miss it for the world.
Furthermore, in this interview on a Canadian talk show, he mentioned being in Tim Burton's new movie, Sweeney Todd, singing a duet with Johnny Depp, no less. Oh yeah, baby.
