The Heist

"Is that a siren?"
"Yes! Just move!"
With those words, Ed and I entered a life of crime.

Sort of.

When we were in high school, Ed was a DJ. He had the works--mixer, sound system, and a huge collection of 12-inch LPs (records, for those of you born after 1985). He even had a DJ name-"DJ Quiet Storm"-although, to be honest, the name changed a lot, and he never went by it, anyway.

Mixin' and scratchin'. Movin' and groovin'.

Ed and I listened to a lot of rap back then: Run-DMC, Public Enemy, Kurtis Blow, the World Class Wrecking Crew; Will Smith and L.L. Cool J before they started acting. DJs were (and are) the backbone of any rap act. I don't know if Ed ever wanted to be on stage or anything, but he did want to DJ parties and make a little money.

Hence, the heist.

You see, all those records get unwieldy when you're carrying them. Ed kept most of his in cardboard boxes, but all the "real" DJs kept theirs in milk crates. Ed had been bugging me for weeks to help him "find" a milk crate or two.

I may have given him the idea.

We were coming home after cruising Hollywood and Sunset Boulevards in Ed's Ford Escort (he was driving because I didn't have a car) when Ed says, "I got that gig for that party in Saugus."
"Yeah? Cool."
"Yeah, but I'll need help carrying stuff in."
"You want me to be to be your roadie? Sure!"

We drove on in relative quiet (relative because although we weren't talking, Ed's stereo blared away) for a long while when Ed said, "I wish I had milk crates for my 12-inches."
I had just been fired from a job as a box boy at Ralph's Supermarket, so I said, "Why not just take one? They throw them away, anyway."
Ed hedged a bit, saying, "I don't know, dude."
"How do you think the other DJs get them? Buy them?" (As it turns out, you can buy them, but what did I know? I was 17.)
"Well...."
"Look, it's already 11:30. It's dark out; nobody would see you do it."
Ed seemed to consider this, his stronger moral values (stronger than mine, at any rate) warring with his desire to be professionally outfitted as a DJ.
He caved. "Okay, dude."
Cool! I thought.
"But you've gotta do it, 'cause I'm driving."
"Fine," I said, not thinking at all about things like "the law", and words like "misdemeanor" and "jail bitch."

We pulled up behind the Ralph's near our houses (not the one I was fired from). With an agility unseen before or since, I leapt out of my seat and ran toward the loading dock to snatch the coveted milk crates.

They weren't there.

"Hurry up, dude!" Ed said from behind the wheel, Run-DMC blasting from the stereo. (Stealth? What does that word mean?)
"I'm trying! I don't see any!" I hissed over the music.
Getting more nervous, Ed said, "Just grab a box-any box!"
At that moment, we heard the distinctive sound of a siren. It grew louder, closing fast. We'd been discovered!
I grabbed a small box used to hold cheese and ran into the car-literally. I bashed my knee on the driver side rear bumper.
Limping to the other side of the car, I yanked open the door and lurched into my seat.
"Is that a siren?" Ed asked.
"Yes! Just move!" I hissed, tossing the useless 9"x9" box into the back seat. We tore off down the accessway behind the store, hitting the main street at the siren grew louder and Louder and LOUDER. We braced ourselves for the worst.....as an ambulance raced past.

I looked at Ed; he looked at me.
"Should we go back?" he asked.
"No, let's head home," I said. We drove up the street arguing about whose idea it was and how lucky we were not to get caught and how Ed was never going to listen to any of my idiot ideas again. Of course, he did listen to my idiot ideas again, but that's another story.

It's 2004. I imagine the statute of limitations is up for attempted milk crate theft. At least, I hope so.

Take care,
~Rob