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Fucked Up College Kids File 409
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= F.U.C.K. - Fucked Up College Kids - Born Jan. 24th, 1993 - F.U.C.K. =
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Shard
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Contentness. Satisfaction. With a sly smile, the young man
dug in his pockets for his keys. The keyring held various keys for
different aspects of his life. A four meg simm dangled from it, a
sign of his profession. A super mini-maglite next to the RAM. He sorted
out the right key and popped the trunk of his '92 Honda Civic. The
trunk lifted up revealing the normal contents he had seen everytime
before.
A black milk crate filled with car components helped him
dozens of times before. Snake light, mini-mag lite, two cans of
fix-a-flats, paperwork from his last two car repairs, and other
assorted items. Next to that was an old military bag filled with
common tools; screw drivers, hammer, wrench, and more. Toward the back
of the trunk was a metal pole in case he ran into unfriendly types.
He glanced both ways to make sure no one was paying any special
attention to him, not that they would have a reason, but he always
liked to make sure.
It was a beautiful day out, more so because he rarely left his
apartment during the day. He set the red plastic cup on the back bumper
and put on a set of cheap gloves. After he emptied the trunk of the
normal contents, he set to task. Throughout the trunk were small
shards of glass, littering the carpet like stars on night. Starting
in the upper right corner, he moved clockwise through the trunk removing
the glass. Each piece rolled off his gloves into the cup.
It was only five hours before, his friend had thrown a twenty
pound rock through the window of a computer repair shop. He had followed
the rock through seconds after and began to gather up items in the
store. By the count of ten both men were in the store, thieves of the
night. Twenty, and his friend's bag had several hard drives in it. Thirty
and he had removed all cable connections from their primary server, his
friend with a full bag already. Forty seconds and his friend was heading
out with bag in one hand, a stack of routers balanced on his other.
Fifty seconds and he was running out the window he had entered, a full
tower server under each arm. Both weighed quite a bit, but felt like
empty pizza boxes because of the adrenaline.
Three minutes after the rock sailed through, they were turning
onto the frontage road, entering the freeway. No sign of police, nothing
else out of the ordinary. It was only fifteen more seconds before they
were free to relax. Once on the highway, they were just two guys going
home late at night. He remembers pulling into the apartment complex
a big smile on both of their faces, content with their new found
possessions. Neither could afford it on their individual incomes, but
none of the equipment they had liberated were required by any means.
Just an easy way to get new toys to play with, to learn about. It was
a great way to enhance their skillset in order to progress in the computer
industry.
Twenty minutes had passed and half the glass shards were out
of the trunk and into the cup. No matter what they did, glass always
ended up in the car or their clothes. It would be weeks later and one
of them would find a piece of glass in a shirt pocket or cuff of a sleeve.
This had almost become a ritual after a night of energy. More minutes
and a few neighbors passed as he continued cleaning. It was rare that
he gave thought about the right or wrong of what he did. He had no problems
doing that kind of thing at night, no moral barriers. The more he thought
about it, the more satisfied he was.
People didn't look at the entire picture most of the time. They
saw the short term view, and made a judgement based off that shallow
view. The following day someone had to replace the broken window. That
provided more work for the glass companies, helped pay the salary of
the installation guy, produced more orders for replacement glass. The
police would surely be called in to take reports, providing them with
their somewhat daily routine. The insurance company of the computer
store would receive a call, one or two of their agents would spend part
of their day filling out paperwork in order to replace the stolen
equipment. The computer store was not full of morons, so because of
clever paperwork, the store actually made a few dollars profit on the
missing equipment. The companies that made the hardware will receive
purchase orders to replace the originals.
Add it all up, and not much was truly lost. More good came out
of the 'crime' than bad, yet no one saw it that way. Or maybe they did.
Maybe that explains why police are so casual about crimes of that nature,
and never seem really interested in catching the bad guys unless the
criminals happen to fall in their lap. Who knows. The last piece of
glass fell into the cup, the trunk closed. He headed across the parking
lot toward his front door, and without a second thought tossed the plastic
cup into the dumpster. One cup of broken glass is all there was to
represent hours and hours of work and legitimate business for all those
other people.
Not like it mattered that his actions went unappreciated. He ended
up with new equipment to play with. Half a dozen other people ended up
with more work in order to pay their bills and move on in their life.
If they stopped to think about it, they should probably thank him. But
he knew it wouldn't come to that. He had plenty of thanks already, in the
form of a weak security system, poor response time, and bad placement
of equipment. He laughed as he thought about sending them a thank you
card. As quick as the notion had occurred, it passed on, leaving him with
a slight smile. And a small cut on his thumb. Oh the price that is
paid.
- dis
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