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MEMO

TO: The Burglar on the Lawn
FR: Concerned Neighbor

The only reason we met is because I had forgotten my cell phone. Again.

Since I was only 5 minutes away from home, I turned around and went back to get it. That's when I noticed you sitting on my neighbor's lawn, scoping out the neighborhood.

At first, I thought you were just a neighborhood kid, and you were simply hanging out. But my neighbor is a neat freak! This guy is so anal retentive that the neighbors have nicknamed him Mr. Clean. If even a leaf blows onto his lawn, he is racing out in a panic to dispose of the unsightly monstrosity before it gets too comfortable. And that's why you stood out like a sore thumb.

All I could think was "Uh oh. If Mr. Clean saw this guy, he'd fall down in an apoplectic fit and I think it'd be the end of him."

So, as I was leaving my house, I slowed down to tell you to move along. When you looked up and I saw that I was looking at a fully mature 40-something black man, I rethought it.

Now, we do have a black family that lives in the neighborhood: We're not some kind of KKK enclave. But I know all my neighbors, and I don't have any that look like you. Your taste in clothes makes you stick out a little more than you should.

Far be it from me to suggest anything that would make your job easier, but from what I see in the movies, the average house burglar wears pretty nondescript clothes. You, however, apparently want to be the trend-setter.

You were sporting baggy knee-length white shorts with cool sayings scrawled all over them. You had a dark t-shirt and baseball cap, but most tellingly of all, you were carrying a faded black knapsack with you. So at this point, I knew you were either homeless, or those were your burglary tools.

You saw me grab my cell phone, turn around, and come back. Yeah, yeah, I shouldn't have been so obvious, huh? But by then, I didn't care too much. Even though I have an alarm system, a sufficiently motivated crackhead might try to get in, and I have no desire to fill out reams of police reports after I shoot you.

Sure, you were probably just waiting to check everything out before you broke into my neighbor's house. But I really would prefer it if you would just take your trade to another neighborhood altogether.

I liked how you got up and casually sauntered down the street. And when you stopped at the end of the street to just look around, you were as believable as a graduate from the William Shatner School of Acting.

That was the last I saw of you. The police who came out agreed that you were getting ready to break into Mr. Clean's home, so they've stepped up the patrols here.

My neighbor was quite surprised to find out that you were at all interested in his home. I was too. You see, I know something that you don't know: Mr. Clean is a very stingy man, and I am sure that there would have been nothing in there to steal. I'll bet the most expensive piece of jewelry that his wife owns was bought at WalMart.

But after everything happened, I've had a change of heart.

The Cleans have this really loud, obnoxious parrot. Every morning, he screams as if he's a girl being mortally wounded. He drives my dogs crazy, and he prevents any of us from sleeping in in the mornings. That damned parrot is the biggest source of noise pollution in the neighborhood.

So if you come back, I'll look the other way, as long as you take the parrot. Heck, bring a U-Haul and if I have time, I'll help you load it up. But if I don't see the parrot go too, the deal's off and I'm calling the cops.

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