STANFORD, Calif. (TUSB) — Between the hours of 7:00 and 8:00 pm (PST) Wednesday, a skateboard was taken from the planter outside of the HumBio building. A devastated me was seen shortly thereafter, frantically combing the Quad and, fruitless in my search, interrogating the only witnesses—squirrels—as to the whereabouts of my beloved primary mode of transportation. The squirrels could not be reached for comment. Because they scampered up a tree and I can’t jump very high.
So I dealt with my crushing loss the only way I knew how: I showered, ate some ice cream, and blogged, pure anger and mourning coursing through my fingers and onto my keyboard. Naturally, I have a few things to say.
To my skateboard:
The pain in my feet from having to walk everywhere will be a testament to your pivotal roll in my life. Without you, I have lost all my bearings; I feel like I no longer have a grip-tape on my emotions. I feel as if a truck has split my heart right in half-pipe. I am kicking myself for having pushed you away. But now, I have to go on with my life, without you in it: back to the grind. This is my last tribute to you, skateboard. You were taken from me much too soon.
To the reader:
Why do we react so strongly to having something stolen from us? Surely there is an evolutionary reason why we feel so passionately connected to our possessions; they are essentially extensions of ourselves. This idea of “ownership” certainly came in handy for the survival of early man: I imagine a similar scenario in the wild, in which man, having just descended from the trees, finds that his log-board had been stolen, even though he had only gone up the tree to get a banana for like 10 minutes.
Back then, it would have been totally acceptable to hunt the wretched pilferer down, drag him back to the cave by his hair and present his hairy pink behind to a pet sabre-toothed tiger.
Unfortunately, society today frowns upon that sort of thing.
To the person that took it, if you’re reading this (though I highly doubt you are because you’re either an asinine illiterate poopy head or an equally-as-illiterate squirrel):
I pity you. To steal is to give up on being a productive member of society, to completely disregard the moral law that has been set in stone since the aforementioned banana-eating, tree-climbing, sabre-toothed-tiger-owning caveman. Also, congratulations, you’ve stolen my birthday present from my parents. If you can’t find it in your heart (or lack thereof) to return it, at least do me the honor of riding it well, and often, instead of selling it for parts or something. This one’s for you, douchebag.
To either of the thief’s two friends (one of which is surely his right hand), if you’re reading this:
I’m not advocating vigilante justice or anything, but let’s just say that Batman wasn’t a hero because of his tights.
To anyone who has ever had something stolen from them, if you’re reading this:
This article is for you, in memory of every one of your stolen bikes, MacBooks, credit cards and innocences. I feel your pain.
To my prodigal skateboard, if you’re reading this:
Holy crap, you’re sentient. Regardless, come back to me.
I miss you.