First World Problems of Various Levels

 First of all, before I unintentionally start a class war, the whole "you get a room even if they have to bump someone" at Titanium status was a throwaway comment made by Matt that I suspect can't really be true. Also, I think this is less a 'rich people' thing than a 'people who spend way too much time on the road' thing. When I researched it a little, it does say that Titanium status means if you book your room 48 hours a head you are guaranteed a room. I think it's much more likely that a few rooms are kept aside and magically appear even if the hotel is 'full'. Also, there are 'terms and conditions', so who the hell knows. At any rate, we almost always book our hotel rooms way ahead, and we would never kick anyone out of their room. Even if we have to say "please do not give us a room if you have to turf someone else out of theirs". 

For the last few years there has been an increasingly bold series of car thefts (SUV thefts) in my little neighbourhood. People wake up to find their vehicles have been taken right out of their driveway while they slept. Our vehicle wasn't on the list of the most popular ones to steal, but last week it was someone we sort of knew who fell victim.

As if that's not alarming enough, there was a news article about several daylight robberies that have taken place here. Four men pull up in a big black truck, knock and if there's no response they force their way in. 

We don't put our vehicle in the garage until the snow falls and Matt clears out all the crap that accumulates in their over the spring and summer. We should, but I'm always in a hurry in the morning and the extra few minutes to open the garage door, back the car out and close the garage door factor in more heavily than they should (yes, I know this is shameful on my part, I am who I am, it's too late to go back).

I often don't answer knocks on the door when I'm home alone unless I know someone I know is coming over. I do sometimes, but sometimes I'm not dressed for human consumption and I can't face talking to someone and I know odds are it's someone wanting to seal my driveway or hound me about fake charitable donations (I am all for charitable donations, to organizations I research carefully ahead of time and usually donate to monthly). Now every time I hear a knock I'm going to think I should rush to the door and make sure they know someone is here. Although what happens when someone comes to the door and sees four guys and a big black truck? Do they pretend they're selling cookies? I'm using humour inappropriately because my husband is hardly ever home right now and I could convince myself to be terrified if I tried, so I'm trying not to. 

I'm not freaking way out over this (mostly). I'm not joining the chorus of "oh, what has become of our safe, wonderful little town". This shit is what it is, times are tougher than ever, and I'd rather hear about increased property crimes than assaults and rapes and murders. I realize this is a nice privileged position to hold, but that's kind of my point, honestly. There's a quote about having more to lose meaning that you have more that I keep thinking about. It's not that I think these criminals are Robin Hood-ing and robbing the rich to give to the poor. They're probably mean, petty little assholes (maybe they have an origin story about some rich jackass stealing their hotel room). So I don't know what my point is, except now when I get home from work I'm pleasantly surprised if my house is unmolested and when I get up in the morning I'm delighted if the vehicle is still in the driveway. 

I had to go to my CPAP supplier and then run a couple other errands today. On the way home there's an ice cream place, and I keep thinking I want to get ice cream and never getting it, so I thought dammit, I'm getting an ice cream cone and I'll drive home with it and I don't care that I hate food touching my face and hands, it will be completely fine. 

(Spoiler alert: It wasn't completely fine).

First of all, I hadn't been to this place for a long time and totally forgot that small isn't small. You have to order extra-small, or mini, or tiny, or don't-terrify-me-with-ice-cream or something ridiculous. Small is AT LEAST medium. Then I didn't really want it dipped, but she said "regular dip or (some other kind of dip)" and I just blanked and picked a dip. The dip is too thick and hard to bite through. 

I felt the first splatters hit my cleavage as I was walking back to the car and I knew I had chosen poorly. It's thirty degrees. I'm wearing a white dress. It's already melting, and every time I bite the coating the ice cream springs new leaks.

I wrapped a few napkins around the cone and thought, fuck it. My dress is washable. The car seats are leather (shit, does that make it more stealable? I told Matt they were too fancy for us). I can wash my face and hands when I get home.

It was a long (not really), melty, comical drive. I licked the cone, I licked the napkins, I licked my hand. I steered one-handed and still got the steering wheel sticky. I had to eat distressingly big chunks of chocolate defensively so they didn't fall in my lap. And I hit every single red light. But I'm old and beyond shame and have no regrets. If anyone saw me through their car window, I hope I gave them a good story.