Guess This Will Keep Them Away
There’s a point where you stop trying to impress and start trying to survive. That point, for me, came last Thursday, around 6:47 PM, when I duct-taped a cardboard cutout of Nicolas Cage to my front door and called it “home security.”
Let me explain.
The neighborhood has changed. What was once a quiet cul-de-sac with friendly waves and block parties has slowly morphed into something straight out of a reality show—suspicious glances, uninvited solicitors, and someone who keeps leaving pamphlets titled “The Truth About 5G” under my doormat. Add to that the recent spate of porch pirates, and I finally snapped.
Now, some people install security cameras or motion sensor lights. Me? I found a life-size Nicolas Cage cutout on clearance and figured, why not? I stood him up right by the front door, angled so he peers out with that wide-eyed, slightly unhinged look he’s so famous for. I even gave him a name: Officer Cage.
At first, it was a joke. A weird little middle finger to whoever was creeping around my porch at night. But then something remarkable happened.
They stopped.
No more pamphlets. No more mystery knocks. No more stolen packages. One neighbor crossed the street entirely when walking their dog. I saw a delivery guy do a double take, shake his head, and leave the package gingerly on the mat—as if not to offend whatever strange deity was watching him from behind the glass.
Guess this will keep them away.
My friends think I’ve lost it. Emily from work said, “Isn’t that a little… eccentric?” Probably. But I’ve never felt safer. The neighborhood kids won’t come near the yard anymore, which means no more trampled garden beds. Even the raccoons, who used to hold nightly trash bin raids, have retreated back into the shadows.
It’s as if Officer Cage has become a silent guardian, a cardboard deterrent for all things unwanted. His painted eyes say, “I see you. I know what you’re up to. And I’ve starred in Con Air.”
Of course, not everyone gets it. My sister came over last weekend and nearly dropped her casserole. “Is that Nicolas Cage?” she gasped, clutching her heart. I nodded. “He’s protecting the perimeter.” She didn’t ask any more questions.
The strange thing is, this all started because I felt powerless. Things were changing around me, and not for the better. I didn’t feel like I could do anything meaningful about it. But this ridiculous cardboard cutout? It made me laugh. It gave me some sense of control, however bizarre. And it worked.
There’s something to be said for absurdity in the face of discomfort. Maybe it doesn’t fix the problem, but it makes it bearable. Officer Cage became my line in the sand—a reminder that I didn’t have to conform to how everyone else dealt with things. I could be weird, and it could still work.
So yes, I’m that house now. The one with the Nicolas Cage security system. I’ve even considered seasonal costumes for him—Santa in December, a leprechaun in March. I might add a voice box that plays “Not the bees!” when someone gets too close. Why not go all in?
If nothing else, I’ve found a way to laugh in the chaos. And the porch pirates? They’ve moved on. Probably too confused to even consider stealing anything from this house. I mean, would you mess with someone who trusts their safety to a Hollywood star made of cardboard?
Exactly.
Guess this will keep them away.
