Michigan, land of thieves
I hadn’t been to my mother’s house in Michigan for a while. Part of it was probably due to the fact that I work with her, and end up talking to her several times each week. Part of it is because she’s at our house semi-regularly to visit with her grandkids or to attend family events. Part of it is simply that as you get older, you tend to visit a bit less often.
But mostly, we haven’t visited because Michigan is filled with weirdoes and thieves.
Last Friday, we went to visit my mom and stepdad in order to get rid of our children. This was the first time that my daughter, Sydney, would be staying overnight, so we decided to compromise on our usual drop-off-for-the-weekend. Instead of leaving them, we’d stay too, in a small guest house. (Don’t go thinking they’re loaded. While comfortable and technically a guest house, the cabin is closer to “Unabomber shack” than it is to “Butler’s quarters.”) That way if things got ugly, we’d be right there to pretend that we couldn’t hear my mother pounding on the door.
But we still got our alone time. So on Friday night, Robin and I went to the Olive Garden — just the two of us. It was very quiet and we immediately realized we had no idea what to do with ourselves.
“So what are we supposed to talk about?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” Robin replied.
After an extended period of time, the waitress stumbled over, announced that she “needed more wine,” took our drink order, and then stared at us for a while. Then she left. After another extended period of time, she returned with our drinks. Then she stared at us again and left.
One of the people behind Robin was talking about her favorite TV shows.
“Do you watch House? It’s about this doctor who has like a limp and he solves mysteries but nobody likes him but he’s so good that it doesn’t matter and he has like polio or something. And Wife Swap? It’s about these families who trade the mothers and they’re all totally weird like this one lady who was possessed by the devil or something and like ate fire and then there was this kid? Have you seen Heroes?”
The waitress returned. “Can I get you something to drink?” she asked.
“We already have drinks.”
She stood in place and stared at us. So we decided to start ordering food in her general direction and hope that in some part of her mind, she would recognize our verbalizations as valid inquiries for food.
I decided to call my mother to see how Sydney was doing. I could hear her in the background, screaming.
“She’s playing,” my mom announced.
But really, all I cared about was that she wasn’t “playing” with us for a change. It was nice to have a meal without being interrupted. However, halfway through my plate, the waitress arrived with a to-go box and attempted to shovel my food into it.
“I’m still eating that,” I told her.
She stared at me, then left.
Later, while we were sitting at the local Borders book store and reading, a woman walked up to the endtable between our chairs, moved our coffees, picked up one of Robin’s magazines, appraised it briefly, and walked off with it.
You can’t blame Michigan, though. They live so close to those shifty Canadians that descent into lives of thievery was almost a given.
My mom works with a Canadian man named Greg. I once spent a weekend in a Canadian lake house with a group that included Greg and his wife. Greg did not like the lake house. He was bored and didn’t enjoy the beach. He didn’t care much for quiet, or tranquility. He was too busy complaining about the slow cellular internet service.
“There’s a way you can get satellite high-speed for free, you know,” he chided my mother. “It’s the same with DirecTV. You used to be able to get Dish Network TV here, and you could rig it so that it’s free, but then they changed the way it was broadcast and so we had to switch to stealing DirecTV instead.”
I was intrigued. ” ‘We?’ ”
“You know, Canadians.”
Greg tapped a key angrily, mumbling. “The setup I have at home is so fast that you can get full DVDs in no time at all,” he said.
“I can’t figure out how to burn them,” I told him.
“It’s complicated because sometimes they put copyright protection on them. You have to find the programs to break the protection. It can take a long time. There are times that I really want a DVD or CD and I have to search for hours to find it for free somewhere, and then I end up having to get through some copyright bullshit. It’s really annoying.” He tapped a key angrily again.
“Why don’t you just… I don’t know… buy the DVD?”
Greg shook his head. “I can’t. It’s part of being Canadian. We always want to get stuff for free.” He gestured out the window. “Hell, most of these houses have satellite dishes on them. But look around; most are for services we don’t have in Canada. They’re stealing American signals.”
You learn something new every day. Apparently Canadians steal. It’s like that Seinfeld episode where Jerry learns that all old people steal. I wonder what it’s like to be an old Canadian? Museums in Calgary and Toronto must have dozens of safeguards to hold back the onslaught of geriatric catburglars. Like maybe staircases, or low toilets.
The rest of my time in Canada, I walked around with my hands in my pockets.
Back in Michigan, I called my mom again. In the background I could hear the sound of my daughter screaming.
“She’s listening to Boppa play the guitar,” she told me.
I visited the Borders bathroom. When I returned, Robin told me that several people had tried to steal my clearly-marked seat. Later, she went to the bathroom and more people did the same for her seat. It was like they were circling, looking for weakness. I wondered if they could smell fear.
When we returned to my mother’s house, my mom announced that Sydney had cried so much that she had exhausted herself and collapsed into hypoxia. The house was quiet. Satisfied, we headed out to the cabin for our first night of uninterrupted sleep in approximately sixteen thousand years, and it was good.
When we awoke, we had another 36 hours ahead of us in Michigan. Near Detroit, just a stone’s throw from Canada. I decided it would be prudent to put my wallet in my sock and hang my food from a high branch. You never know, and better safe than sorry. Thieves and bears are everywhere.
Tags: Canada, Michigan, thieves
 
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Johnny Truant is a writer and
humorist who lives in Ohio with
his wife and two children. His
mission in life is to be happy,
have fun, and laugh as much as
possible. When it dawned on him
that ninety percent of all
newsmedia has as its mission to
keep people as unhappy and
frightened as possible, he
launched this website. 
November 30th, 2008 at 10:06 am
I used to be a waitress at an Olive Garden. It destroyed everything good and human in me.
You know who else steals? The Irish. The first time my husband came here for a visit, he was amazed at the newspaper machines. “What’s to stop anyone from taking more than one?” he asked.
“Why would you need more than one newspaper?”
“Well you know, if they are just their for the taking…”
I’d tell you about my Korean mom and the condiments but I’m saving that up for my own blog.
November 30th, 2008 at 10:38 am
This is a very true depiction of all things Michigan. I was born in Michigan and I am a weirdo and a thief.
Though not as much as I would be had I been born across the border in Canadia. There is no cure for THAT.
November 30th, 2008 at 10:57 am
Born and raised in MI. Proud to be a weirdo. And a thief if you take from the rich and give to the poor!
November 30th, 2008 at 11:01 am
Just like a bunch of Americans to depict us in such a negative and uncool light.
The reality, dear global village, is that Canada is more like a pirate kingdom, with music and dancing girls and decadent baubles for all.
And, of course, vastly superior grog to that south of the border (so even though we’re thieving rampantly, no one cares).
November 30th, 2008 at 11:20 am
Just for clarification, I think it’s eastern Canadians who are thieves. I pay for my satellite, I buy CD’s and I rent DVD’s and for what it’s worth I’ve never stolen a magazine or someone else’s seat. I did once steal a pair of earrings when I was a teenager, I felt so guilty I had to give them away, my conscience wouldn’t let me wear them.
Out in this end of the country you’re better off afraid of bears… and they don’t care about the food in the tree if they can snack on you instead
November 30th, 2008 at 12:18 pm
I’m Canadian and just stole a few people’s souls. I left a little bit behind though so they could still grow some back though, I’m not like BAD or anything.
November 30th, 2008 at 12:36 pm
I always thought of Michigan as the land of bad drivers. If you are driving in NW Ohio and somebody cuts you off, fails to signal, tailgates, or is generally a huge jerkoff, 9 times out of 10 they have Michigan license plates. I think it has to do with the lax licensing requirements for 15-year-olds, and the need to sell more Detroit steel to anyone and everyone who can see over the steering wheel.
November 30th, 2008 at 2:40 pm
I tried to go to Michigan once, to attend the wedding of one of my weird and thieving relatives ( oh, wait a minute…. the weird and thieving relatives were all in Pittsburgh, PA where I grew up. Another story.), and the car engine blew up on the freeway, so we never made it. Now I’m wondering if it was a sign!
Thanks for making me laugh. And yes, I’ve also been to the Olive Garden ( but only when I go to Pittsburgh) and have had serious concerns about waitress zombies.
November 30th, 2008 at 3:32 pm
Here’s what I dig most about Canada:
1. The Beer Store. My mom was once looking for wine in Windsor and so she went to the Beer Store. They said, “You can’t get wine at the Beer Store!”
2. The fact that they call whole milk “Homo milk.” Dude, I’m not drinking that.
@ ben - It’s good that you’re suspicious of American hegemony. Here’s how we see the world:
http://ksuoncampus.com/images/blog/the-world-according-to-americans.jpg
November 30th, 2008 at 3:57 pm
Of course you can only get beer at the Beer Store - I mean, if you could get wine there it would be “The Beer and Wine Store” now wouldn’t it?
and then, what if they could sell rum there too, (for the Canadian Pirates) then it would have to be “The Beer and Wine and Rum Store” and eventually the name would just get too complicated.
November 30th, 2008 at 4:45 pm
I’ve always thought that Michigan folks were really more like Canadians than most Americans. You seem to be confirming that, though not in a good way.
But I get the impression that young men from Michigan (and maybe others) think that Canada is the land of strippers and casinos, but the look of what is happening to the economy of Windsor.
And just to confuse you more about The Beer Store, although you can only buy beer there you can take back all of the packaging for whatever alcohol you buy to the Beer Store. In fact, although there are now deposits on wine, rum and other bottles (and indeed boxes, and plastic containers, as long as they contain alcohol), you can’t take them back to the Liquor store, just the Beer Store. (And The Beer Store only exists in Ontario, not in all of Canada.)
November 30th, 2008 at 9:54 pm
[...] if you are bored and want a little humor, Johnny Truant, talks about Michigan, the place of thieves and wierdos. He’s got a great sense of humor and I really hope to see his blog take off. Give him a visit [...]
December 1st, 2008 at 8:10 am
Ok, well having read Johnny’s post and then all the comments I have decided that Michigan is NOT a place I am going to be visiting and Canada - well I know some lovely people who are Canadian, unless they are just pretending to be lovely and are really thieving wierdos……..
MA
December 1st, 2008 at 8:18 am
I’m a Canadian living in Michigan. You’d think I have free satellite but I don’t. I pay for cable but only the basic version - I refuse to pay for all those extra channels when I know I could be getting them for free.
Typically I don’t steal BUT if you return here and get a 404 message…just sayin.
BTW: http://www.awomansblog.com sent me.
December 1st, 2008 at 12:21 pm
I was born in Michigan. Only by reading this article did I begin to question the legality of “free stuff”.
Just kidding.
Michiganders (especially those from the Detroit area) are rather predatory about Borders seating. We hawk it, then hog it. Only the strong survive.
December 1st, 2008 at 1:02 pm
I actually love Canadians. For some reason, I’ve never met a Canadian I didn’t like. Maybe I should move up there. I’d be surrounded by people I like and could steal everything. Ironically, that’s the American dream.
December 1st, 2008 at 2:00 pm
Holy crap, I feel so sheltered. I never knew Michiganites much less Canadians were so predatory. Maybe the cold makes them lean, mean, thieving machines? However, it is good to know that the Olive Garden waitress lobotomies is a national directive and not just an anomaly down here.
We don’t have Beer Stores here in DC/MD but we do have beer drive thrus…yes, seems like a contradiction. Drinking and driving bad. Driving though a building and having your six pack handed to you while the car still on…good?
December 1st, 2008 at 7:05 pm
The Olive Garden and reading at Borders. Now THAT’s a hot date!
December 1st, 2008 at 7:22 pm
Everyone, the commenter above this comment, O-Steve, has a stripper pole in his house. I know this for a fact. It’s for his girlfriend. I will not even attempt to argue date-hotness with this master.
However, it’s true that we long ago acknowledged our lameness. We have embraced it.
January 6th, 2009 at 1:06 pm
[...] though Robin and I steeled ourselves after enduring weirdoes in Michigan over Thanksgiving, they struck again when we went back over Christmas. At the same Borders book store, a woman stood [...]