I broke into my neighbors’ house to find my stolen truck
You never really know what your neighbors are capable of. Trust me.
My truck was stolen last week, so I did what anyone else would do.
Ha! No, not that.
Actually, I didn’t do anything—not right away. I waited. Then, after my neighbors left for work, I broke into their house.
Not to be rude, mind you, just to check their surveillance cameras.
Nice people, the neighbors. Christiano and Paola. The perfect couple. Always volunteering for community clean-ups and making the rest of us look bad with their matching BMWs and professionally landscaped yard.
But, more importantly, and for our purposes, they have those fancy doorbell cameras that can see everything on our street.
Like I said, nice people.
But wouldn't you know it, while I was in there just minding my business, they came barging in. Both of them. Angry, shouting at each other. Hurling insults, and all the fancy gifts they'd ever bought each other over the years.
It was a knockdown, drag-out brawl, and I was ringside, crouched behind their sectional like some discount ninja in sweatpants.
But what was I supposed to do? Call a time-out?
"Excuse me, I'm solving a crime here. Can you please take your marital problems elsewhere?"
None of my business
From what I could tell, it was his fault as much as hers. But I wasn't going to say anything either way—none of my business.
“Leave me out of it.” That’s what I always say. “Leave me the hell out of it.”
So, instead, I stayed crouched behind the couch, inhaling dust and dog hair while their argument grew uglier… and more, umm… passionate.
My leg started to cramp, then my knee popped. A sneeze built in my nose like an approaching freight train, but I pinched my nostrils shut so hard that my eyes squirted tears.
I tried not to listen.
Like I said, “None of my business,” but it really made me sad, you know? These two were so in love once, always holding hands, laughing like they had some secret joke the rest of us weren't in on.
Now, they shouted words that would make a prison guard blush.
She screamed about something she found hidden in the attic. He yelled back about trust and then said something in Spanish about her mother.
Another plate shattered.
I crawled on my hands and knees toward the hallway, searching for the damn camera feed so I could get what I came for and get the hell out of there. But just as I rounded the corner, I spotted a photo album lying under the coffee table, knocked sideways in their rage—open to their honeymoon in Italy.
Perfect white teeth, sunburned shoulders, arms around each other like they couldn't stand to be apart. Now look at them. Same couple, but screaming like banshees.
It wasn’t right.
I snuck the album back on top of the coffee table—right in their line of sight—scooted myself behind the big armchair and prayed for a miracle.
He saw it first. Then she did.
Her eyes watered.
"Remember this?" he asked.
Her head dropped. She nodded, and somehow, right there, they apologized, and then they hugged.
I held my breath.
Then the doorbell rang.
They grumbled. Their hug game was heating up. But it rang again, so with a groan he shuffled to the door while she started the cleanup.
Meanwhile, I’m still holding my breath and pinching my nose when I hear a young man's voice.
"Is this the D’Arcy residence? I have an F-150 here for drop-off."
My truck!
Then I remembered.
I received a factory recall in the mail weeks ago, so I arranged for the Ford dealership to pick up my truck, perform the service, and return it the same day. I even mailed them my spare key.
Somehow, I’d forgotten all this, but I suddenly remembered it now, thanks to this young porter who just so happened to ring the wrong doorbell at the wrong house.
This was good for me, of course, because I used the distraction to scoot through the laundry room and out the back door.
Meanwhile, the two lovebirds were busy telling the confused porter that his delivery belonged next door and that they wouldn’t be caught dead driving a seven-year-old pickup truck “held together with duct tape and baling wire," as my neighbor put it.
Neighbors. Some friends they turned out to be, huh?
All’s well that ends well.
I saw the neighbors at the supermarket this past weekend. I leaned in to say hi, but he leaned away to whisper something in her ear.
She laughed so hard she snorted.
I just shook my head and walked away.
None of my business.
“Leave me out of it.” That’s what I always say. “Leave me the hell out of it.”
I love you guys! 🤗
Stay safe out there…and lock your doors.
You never really know what your neighbors are capable of.
Trust me.
Mine surprise the hell out of me all the time.
Be good! 😊
—Paul