Shh... I whispered to myself as the tree limb cracked when stepped on. My goal was to be invisible without anyone noticing. Wishing to be indistinguishable. Slowly approaching the front door, I reached for the package. When everybody else wore black, trying to sneak around, I was all in white, trying to blend in. I wore extra-large clothes, binding my overdeveloped chest, and shoes two sizes too big stuffed with paper. The lifts in them made me three inches taller than my five-foot-three inches. Nobody would recognize me. My face was covered with a plastic face mask you could see out of, but it blinded all the cameras to facial features, so no one knew if it was a male or a female who robbed them, but they knew that their packages were missing. Musts were no jewelry, nothing to identify who I am, and that included no visible tattoos and being covered from head to toe with no distinguishing marks. 

Some days, out of boredom, I followed the UPS guy around and picked up the packages after they were dropped off. If it was stuff to sell or pawn, I did. Returning some items to the department store if they were from nearby. I took it in for credit, got what was needed, or sold it online for cash. It wasn't like this was my dream job, or I went to college to learn how to be a porch pirate, which was so not what I wanted in life, but hardship and other circumstances beyond my control contributed to the lifestyle. I hate that my life ended up doing this for work, but treating it like a job was necessary as it was my only source of income. 

What started as an easy prank became a way of life. Hanging after school with my few friends, we went to the mall. As kids do, we dared each other to lift certain items. It was fun and games until Roger was caught, and our parents called. For me, it was Granny. Needless to say, Granny wouldn’t let me hang with Roger anymore. A few years later, when I was a senior, the incident was forgotten. Roger was back to following Meagan and me. He was fun to be around. But it was a return to the life of crime, only this time, when we drove all over town, stopping and lifting the boxes on porches. It was a hoot to guess what it was before we opened it, and the closest speculation kept it. I never thought anything of it since it didn’t hurt anyone.

Then Granny died when I was seventeen, during my senior year, and my world fell apart. She had no money to leave me. The house we rented had to be cleaned out before the end of the month. It was a disastrous time for me. Meagan’s mom stepped up until graduation, and my full ride to Brown University kicked into play. College was a godsend and kept a roof over my head for four years. I majored in Business and minored in Psychology since I loved learning how to read and manipulate people. After I graduated, I had a few jobs, but they went nowhere. I didn't bounce back when I lost the last one to downsizing. My current money situation was born out of desperation. 

I couldn’t tell my best friend what I was doing. Meagan thought I'd finally gotten a new job as an admin. But what was I going to do? No one would employ me, and no regular job was available. There was a freeze because of the economy on most businesses. Everybody seemed to think it was easy to procure a job, but it wasn't. They were scarce or unavailable. 

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When I went for a few interviews over the years, the human resources person glanced once, and they didn’t believe I was capable because of my small stature, thinking I was a kid. Being seen as a sixteen-year-old when I’m almost thirty exacerbated the issue. Many believed I lied about my experiences to land a job, assuming I didn’t appear qualified. 

I visited every store that provided free makeovers or makeup lessons, anything to make myself older in appearance, but nothing improved. Even wearing old lady clothes didn’t provide aging. It was probably why nobody paid attention; nobody asked for a date, and nobody asked for anything. Sometimes, I wondered if anyone saw me or cared because they observed a young girl. Feeling tired of my poor attitude, I seized control of my life and career by finding something I was good at that might not be all legal, like, okay, it wasn’t legal at all. Still, fending for myself felt better than a handout.

The attire for porch pirating changed my looks for the first time in my life. I became a different person or an optimally nondescript person. I could be a man or a woman at five-six with the three-inch lifts. I weighed a hundred pounds, but with all the extra layers of clothing and the lightweight stuffing used, it was closer to 150 lbs. The disguise included a wig of nondescript short, curly brown hair, providing a fuller face. It went above the shoulders, not that anybody saw the length of the hair underneath a hat. But in case the painter’s cap fell off or it peeked out, it provided a wrong description and not one of my natural, gorgeous, chestnut, long, wavy locks. Still, being able to pass as a male or a female in disguise afforded invisibility. It's hard going through life nondescript; nobody notices you, nobody thinks about you, and you become nobody. Since I already had that trait, it was easy to simulate.

My new work wardrobe consisted of white overalls with a hoodie like a painter would wear, non-descript, with a white painter's hat with the bill under the hoodie on top of the wig. Then, the blurring face mask, hidden by the hat’s bill, hides any facial distinctions, making it indescribable. White gloves leave no fingerprints. White shoes are two sizes too big with no tread, effectively hiding if they are male or female. I like how tall they make me feel, she mused. Everything was nondescript, like I am, because no one could provide a description or talk through a composite. It's just the way I like it, continuing with the flow. 

Nobody knows about the porch pirate job. Not even my best friend Meagan knew. When we would party on the weekends, friends would ask how the new job was going, and I’d make up stories about an imaginary administrative position. Revealing this one woman at work who was always on my case, and I could do nothing right. Then, tales of my boss being a nice guy and how much I enjoyed working there. But it was all in my head, make-believe. Nothing was authentic, but I no longer felt guilty, knowing it would end someday. But it was all I had right now.