Recycled carpet pad

wwwiqfloors.com
Last night, at 3:30am, the phone rang and woke me to worry.
"Yes?", I said.
My heart sank when I heard, "This is officer Adam West..."  I swear this was his name, and so my first reaction was to say, "Batman?"  I couldn't, however, because of the fear that he was calling me to inform me a relative had been in an accident.
"Do you own the carpet store on Fillmore Ridge Heights?" he asked with a serious tone.
Now I was worried. "Yes."
"We have someone here that is stealing," he paused, "I think it's carpet pad, and we need you to come down and help clear things up for us." he said.

I was there in ten minutes, with sweatpants, sandals, and a baseball cap.  I felt sick.  Violated.
The closer I got, the more the police car looked like a security patrol car.  The guard was waiting with flashlight in hand.  He had  the "suspect" sitting on his hood, arms crossed, and head down.

The beat up chevy was stacked eight feet tall in the bed with nothing but filthy, used carpet pad.  I had stacked it next to the trash in hopes someone would take it.  Someone did.  At 3:30 in the morning.

"I thought you meant he had broken in and stolen pad from me, but this stuff is trash."  I reasoned.  "I'd pay someone to steal this from me.  Should I thank him?"

It was obvious the security guard was disappointed.  He wanted a catch and he couldn't understand that this guy was doing me a favor.  "Well, did he have your permission?"


"Take a look at that stuff.  Or, better yet, smell it.  That is used, piss soaked, filth.  For all of his work, he's gonna get four cents per pound.  If you do the math, he's gonna make eight bucks." 

He said a few comments to his perp and let him drive away.  Then, with his flashlight still in hand, he looked at me.  "You gotta a couple of minutes to look at your building?"
"I guess.  But, I actually was hoping to sleep for another hour."

"Well, I noticed a number of security flaws with your store." he said in a demeaning way.  He pointed at a rock and clicked his flashlight on.  "See that rock?  If I was a criminal, I could take that rock and smash your window, grab what I need, and run."

"But that's my forklift-stopper rock." I chuckled.

"Look here,"  he said, and pointed his flashlight into the window.  "See those cups on your counter?"

"Yeah?" I said doubting this was going anywhere.

"If I was homeless, I would know you had water, and probably food in there.  I could smash my way in and have a feast."  He scolded.

"You mean with my forklift-stopper rock?"  I chuckled again.


He started with another example, but I had to cut him short.  "I really have to go."