A Man, a Girl, a Deserted Island - an Epic Love Hate Saga

Episode 50: Alfredo is Kind of Dumb

At five to two, I quietly opened the window so the hinges wouldn't squeak. I climbed out like a cat and then crawled cautiously on all fours to the gate. Caution was of paramount importance.

On the deserted streets, a cool wind was blowing, which chased away my sleep. Now I was awake enough to review once more what I had to do.

I had a screwdriver and a pair of pliers with me, tools that would help me defeat any lock. I had swiped them from my father's tool workshop. And I also had a hairpin that I took from my mother's dresser. It would help me with the door lock.

In all the American movies, the bad guys open the door lock with a simple hairpin. If a dumb actor can open a door with a hairpin, then surely a law student wouldn't have much trouble with it.

I only had to cover fifty meters to the cigarette kiosk, but it felt like an eternity until I got there.

The kiosk was located in a small park. The front door was well-lit and in plain sight, but I wasn't interested in that door. I was in love with the back door. Once in front of it, I looked at it puzzled. It seemed different at night. Darker, more impenetrable.

"God help me!" I sighed, then attacked the lock with the screwdriver.

Two minutes later, I was whistling sadly and looking at my dad's screwdriver bent like a fishing hook. There was no way I could return it to the tool workshop like that.

"Damn you!" I said, glaring at the lock with hatred.

After another fifteen minutes, I was sweating as if I had just come out of a sauna, my hands were trembling, but my eyes were gleaming with satisfaction and pride: the lock lay next to the door. It was dead! It had met its end!

I had the makings of a thief.

Good, step two... I gently caressed the door lock and pulled out the hairpin with a grin.

"This is a piece of cake," I thought. "In less than a minute, I'll be inside and smoking a cigarette of any brand I choose! I'll have both money and cigarettes. And gum to chew until the end of college."

That lock made me cry in frustration. Half an hour later, I was so furious I wanted to bang my head against it.

I turned the hairpin in the lock every which way, twisted it, encouraged it, cursed it, but... to no avail. In the movies, you always heard a "Click!" and the door would open. For me, there was no click.

And when I finally heard one, I was left holding half a hairpin.

"God, no," I groaned, my nerves shot. "Dad was right! I'm good for nothing! I'll never amount to anything! I can't even be a proper thief."

I collapsed in defeat next to the door, leaned my back against it, and buried my head in my hands. It was bad.

If I couldn't be a good thief, how was I going to defend thieves? What kind of lawyer would I be?

I realized I was too dumb to be a thief. It takes brains to be a thief.

Maybe I needed to switch sides. I seriously considered a career in the police. Then I remembered I was certifiably insane.

Goodbye, career in the police! Even the police have their standards.

Nothing to be done: I had to leave that cursed kiosk! I had to admit defeat.

I picked up the destroyed screwdriver and the pliers, which no longer looked like pliers, and then headed home. On the way, I tossed them disgustedly into the first trash can.