Stealing Time

Recouperating from the stomach nastiness has thrown my schedule for a loop, with some happy side effects. Saturday morning and I was out the door at 10am in time for what was shaping up to be the best morning ever. Just in time to be entered in the drawing for a free iPod and iPod HiFi, I made a pledge to my local NPR station, WNYC. As I mentioned recently, I have been listening to public radio pretty hard core since my Senior Year in college and this is the first time I ever donated money. It was rather fortuitous that my first paycheck for an article I wrote arrived Thursday night, just in time for pledge week. Receive and give back, I say. Now that I've finally done my part, I feel like a rock star. Also, for my $75 gift I received Bruce Springsteen's new album The Seeger Sessions, of which Josh had good things to say. See, it's good and it's good for you. Then, since I was on such a roll and I already had the credit card out I renewed my anti-virus subscription and got the full Internet Security package from Norton, which I had been meaning to do since my credit card number was stolen.

I picked up some groceries, then my dry cleaning and I remembered to bring my market bag so I didn't have to collect plastic landfill cloggers at each stop (I am both an incredibly lazy and environmentally apathetic person, so if I can remember to bring my own shopping bag, you sure as hell can.) It's a gorgeous morning. I dropped off the loot, then headed back out to the Brooklyn Public Library to drop off some old books and pick up some new ones.

After the library I swung by the Farmer's Market on Grand Army Plaza. Time for an embarassing confession: I have been living in Brooklyn for over two years now and this is the first time I made it to the Farmer's Market, about five blocks from my house. Seriously. Who is awake and about before 1:00pm on Saturday? Not me. So although this is a relatively small market, it was still fun and it seemed like a great way to spend a sunny Saturday. I bought some freshly baked bread, a mild farmer's cheese (I am a total cheese wuss, basically I want it to taste like butter), a mini Pumpkin Bread and some Apple Cider. Then I walked home salavating over the through of breakfast.

When I got home I started the coffee, sliced the bread, grabbed the Nutella and thought, truly, this is the best morning ever. When VH-1 makes a show called "Best Morning Ever" (inevitable) I will go on as a guest host, the title "blogger" will appear beneath my name and I will talk about this morning. Then, to enhance my little sit down I reached for the New York Times and my mood soured.

The problem is, the paper wasn't there. Now, I have been subscribing to home delivery of the weekend Times for a couple of months now. When I go away on the weekend, the paper is not waiting for me on my return. Okay, fair enough, I thought. The papers have been sitting there all weekend, someone picked them up and walked off with them. I can live with that. Then one day I was home, but I didn't go out to my stoop to pick up the paper until after 4:30pm. No paper. I was peeved, but what could I do? But this morning was the last straw. At ten o'clock in the goddamn morning, I expect my paper to be there.

I firmly believe that my paper is being delivered and one of my neighbors is stealing it. Sticky situation. I only really know my neighbors on the ground floor, my floor. In fact, I've been in this building for about 10 months now and I've never even been about the ground floor. In addition to my floor neighbors who are above suspicion as far as I am concerned I exchange pleasantries with a guy who sits on the stoop to smoke and his daughter and grandson- the boy has some kind of developmental disability and he and the mom are usually waiting for his bus when I leave for work in the morning. The rest of the neighbors don't give a crap about me and, by reciprociation, nor do I about them. Considering I live in a neighborhood where attacks and break-ins are common, I'm more than happy to float beneath the radar and not draw attention to my status as a single young woman living alone. But now, what to do about my paper?

I don't want to go balls out bitchy and open myself up as a target for retribution, but I don't want my anonymity to be construed as cowardice. I was thinking of posting a sign on the door that says "To the person who took my New York Times: please return it to the vestibule." Thoughts? Suggestions? Why do I have the feeling that no matter what I do, I am going to be the loser in this situation.