I have this character flaw that, unfortunately, comes to many people who work in the news. Only I had it long before I was ever even interested in working at a paper. I actually believe I was born with it.
It's sort of a hope for bad things to happen. I call it backwards pessimism. Take, for example, when Y2K didn't produce mass hysteria I was terribly disappointed. I mean, the microwave didn't even break down.
I remember, years later, carefully listening to the police scanner at work as details of a terrible accident unfolded. I wasn't even going to cover this story, but I thought of it as just that - a story, and a captivating one that everyone would read first the next day. It wasn't until I read my co-worker's article in the paper the next day that I realized how horrific my original reaction of excitement had been.
These awful feelings rose back to the surface yesterday as I drove past a house in my neighborhood. The property was swaddled with police tape and cops and I knew something bad had happened there. I gawked like the rest of the drivers creeping past the crime scene. Only I think I was more interested than the other drivers.
Earlier this year, I bought these awesome vintage boots (pictured) and patterns on that very lawn from the older couple living in that very house. I drove home yesterday, wondering what those elderly folks could possibly have done to warrant that swarm of police officers. Of course I imagined the worst and I checked the news periodically throughout the rest of the day to find out what it was.
Turns out that yard sale was likely a moving sale for the older couple now living in Florida. Their renter, however, allegedly murdered a man early yesterday morning in their home. So, of course, I can't keep this to myself. I'm not happy about a murder two blocks from my house. But am I awful to admit that I think this makes my boots even cooler?
WEEKEND AT HOME / 69
1 hour ago