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 | My very first Infiltration (gone bad)
entry by TheEvilOne
12/8/2006 5:45 PM
| My first infiltration.
A fond memory, and a memory at its ending that had given me nightmares for a few of my tender years afterwards.
I was somewhere between the ages of six and nine-with a friend of mine that I no longer remember a name too. Sad, really, how when you move and grow and leave people behind they stick in your mind-but their names seem to flee the apartment of your memory.
The house was a block and a half away from my mom's apartment, and had been empty for awhile-so I thought...why not? Nobody is there, nobody will care, and we won't take anything! Nobody will mind us just LOOKING-right?
Well, this friend and me decided to simply walk to the back door through the back yard via the alley like we belonged there. Easy enough-nobody was around, and the houses on either side were empty as well. Seems people had things to do that night, and weren't home. That worked for us!
The back door was, surprisingly, open. In that neighborhood, at that time, it wasn't exactly wise to do such a thing. It's like inviting all the neighborhood thugs inside to see what you have, do a shopping spree of your belongings and patting them on their backs for such a good job!
Once inside, we were in the kitchen. What struck me as odd, was that there were things scattered absurdly around. Pots, pans, plateware, broken and not. Food, even! There was no signs of anyone actually Living in there-no mail, no papers. There was once someone there, not long before us getting inside-but I knew that no one had been THERE for at least three weeks. The expiration date on the rotten milk in the non-working refridgerator proved it. The date expired two months ago.
Okay-so we assumed it's all good for us to explore further!
The living room was an array of ... crap. Everywhere. There were walking paths from the kitchen to the front door, to the steps that led to the second floor, and a chair in front of the tv set. Now, if I'd had been older, I would have thought.... Maybe the person living here was just a slob, and didn't think anyone would think to invade their home.
Being as young as I was-I didn't think much of it.
The second floor was a mess of climbing over boxes, crates and furniture to the point we couldn't get more than half-way down the hall and only into one room before having to give up. I have no clue as to just how much junk was in the house, but I can bet that whomever lived there had collected for years to get the house this way.
Back downstairs, we counted around fifty bucks worth of change strewn about-left it in a jar for whomever was supposed to CLEAN this mess, and went to the kitchen.
Again-I say this was an infiltration gone bad simply because we were hungry-and I decided to 'cook'.
There were still plenty of things one could scrounge in the house that were edible. Canned goods last forever, you know. In my mind.
I turned on the electric stove, grabbed a pot and told my friend to find something. Waiting for the burner to turn red, I stood in front of the thing.
And waited.
And waited.
Until my even then thin patience wore out and decided to check to see if the burner was even on.
Electric stoves, mind you, do not turn red until they are on over half way-which I hadn't done.
I near melted the palm of my hand to the burner even still. Took the spatula to pry my palm OFF of the burner in the middle of my screams-and the screams of my friend. Who called 911. Who also told me to butter my palm to get the burning to stop-which it didn't.
Six squad cars and a fire engine and ambulance later, my mother was tugging me down the street by an ear while I held onto my wrapped hand and tried to explain to her I was not breaking and entering! It was open! I was entering! I didn't steal anything! I didn't want too!
Needless to say, I learned one thing if nothing else from that infiltration.
Make sure you never butter burns. Just... ow.
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