So I was robbed for Christmas…
You might have seen on Facebook that my apartment was robbed while I was home for the holidays, and that nearly all of my film equipment was stolen. The story follows. If you don’t want to read but you want to help, jump to the bottom of the post.
This had been a good Christmas. I had the resources and time to go home, to visit family and longtime friends. Ohio was unnaturally warm. Gas was cheap. Nobody fought.
I just relocated to New York, so my family wanted to talk about that.
Aunt Norm asked about a seafood place she’d been to some twenty years ago. Mamaw wanted to know if the subway went to Brooklyn. Mom imagined she might escape assisted living for a visit.
Tricia, my step-mom, asked if I got the chocolates she sent. I did.
All were merry.
The morning after Christmas, I returned to New York to find my apartment ransacked.
My cameras, lenses, sound gear and lights were stolen. Equipment accumulated over many years, worth many, many thousands of dollars, gone.
And for good measure, they took a bottle of rum. Bastards.
No, I didn’t have any kind of insurance. Yes, I realize, in ways I cannot express, how wildly stupid that is. It is a mistake I won’t make again.
At this point, we more or less know what happened. But I don’t feel comfortable broadcasting the details of the break-in, or the specifics of the equipment that was stolen.
Because aside from the obvious financial consequences, I’m still a little looney tunes about the whole thing. Being robbed triggers a selfish kind of paranoia that I’m still working through.
No question, the thieves did very well for themselves. And yet, I can’t help but to take odd pleasure at a couple details:
- They stole an old, junker of a laptop from my desk, but left a new MacPro beside it.
- They ate the last of the chocolates my step-mom sent – the shitty, coconut-filled ones I’d been avoiding. Suckers.
In truth, I feel pretty deflated: the naive midwesterner who finally relocates to NYC only to have his shit stolen within a week of his housewarming.
It sucks, especially because what’s been taken from me are the tools I use to make a living, in a place where making a living ain’t easy.
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The response from my brief Facebook post about the burglary, written while I was waiting for the cops, has been entirely unexpected.
Friends from many places have given me much-needed advice and comfort. Fellow doc filmmakers have reached out to offer equipment for loan. Facebook strangers have invited me to drink rum with them. Lots of rum.
Many of you have also urged me to start some sort of fund to help replace the equipment.
I’ve decided against some big fundraising push or campaign. I should have been more careful, and I’m clear-eyed about the months of work and savings it’s going to take to get me back to where I was.
But for those of you who want to help financially, and who are in a good place to, I will accept it.
The easiest way to help is via Paypal, with this link:
http://goo.gl/sjhaFK (you don’t need an account)
Or, to cwhiteside@gmail.com.
Or, if you’re hip to Venmo, we can avoid giving banks any money — I’m @Chase-Whiteside.
In the meantime, I’m securing my apartment, I’m getting insurance, and I’m thinking up something to do for all of you. I am extremely grateful.
More soon, and a kick-ass new year to all,
Chase