The odometer reads 300,000 miles. I just can't seem to believe that is possible, but the car is only a year younger than I am, so I think it must be.
i got up this morning, like i do most mornings. It was a little earlier than normal, I had been called in to cover for someone missing at work. So about 8:30 I sleepily stumbled out of my building and searched around for my car, to move it (we have alternate street parking, known as musical cars) to a good location.
I looked left.
I looked right.
Up.
Down.
All Around.
No 1988 Buick LeSabre with an icon of the Blessed Virgin in the rearview window. No White Brickmobile with a dent in the driver's side from where the candy truck sideswiped me during a blizzard. nothing. I called up the brother and asked him, like siblings do, "hey! did you move my_(shirt, lasagna, bath towel, etc.)___?"
he hadn't. in fact, he saw the car X earlier the evening before. i wasn't crazy, afterall, or at least, the lack of car in it's spot did not offer proof as such.
I gathered that the vehicle had been either a) towed or b) stolen c)raptured.
So I gathered my sleepy brother and walked down the street to the police station (isn't that reassuring, only steps away?) where i was informed that I could not report a crime on foot, and that i must return to the scene of the crime and dial 911. it was also implied that i may have "misplaced" the vehicle, and i questioned for a second whether or not i had perhaps stolen it myself in my sleep. i did not, and quickly walked back to the scene of the crime, dialed 911, and waited.
our friendly neighbors (from ohio) came out to see what all the hullabaloo was about. Really though, they just saw me frantically pacing the sidewalk. They stayed with us for a good half hour waiting for the sirens to come screeching the half mile to our street. About an hour had passed since I had noticed Sarge (my buick's name) was missing.
We stood discussing possible options with our neighbors. They assured me I'd get it back soon, that some kids probably just took it to the bronx for a joy ride.
Out of nowhere, a man on a bicyle comes whizzing down the block and pulls up in front us.
"Ya'll looking for something." My neighbord leaned in, "Yeah man, you know something?"
"Ya'll looking for a white car?" "Yeah man."
"Well, you didn't hear it from me, but i may know something about that car." "oh yeah?"
"Yeah man, maybe it's parked down the block." "Oh really."
"Maybe someone got in to it with a screwdriver and a hotwire." "Uh-huh."
"So do I get my reward?"
And so, the gumshoe detective on the bicycle was thanked for his time, and promised $20 as soon as the author had time to get to an ATM. My brother and I stole back the car, and immediately purchased THE CLUB. Sarge was home at last.
The joyriding crackheads must have been dissapointed by the contents of what they found in the car. They made off poorly, taking only:
1 (large) bag of Kitt'N'Kaboodle cat food.
(trust me, my cat is pissed. when i told her she said, "let me find out some motha$%^& done ate my food on me. i'm tight right now")
(all) of the change in my ashtray, about $0.78 worth.
1 (new) water cooler, retail value: $19.99
they did not opt to take :
a teakettle
a collection of feminist short stories
the icon of the virgin mary
i am happy to report that i left the empty box to my GPS in the car, so i hope those motha$%^& were sorely dissapointed when they realized it was empty. my car is home, and clubbed.
911 opted not to arrive, and instead gave a phone call about four hours late and told us we could, "make a report at our local precinct."
Since, dear reader, we have learned together that one cannot make a report "on foot," I wonder how I might have gone about that sort of thing if my car had not been recovered. luckily, we have been reunited, and I have learned a valuable lesson.
Just because your car is a piece of shit and has nothing valuable in it, doesn't mean a crackhead won't break into it.
More gems comin' to you soon from your diamond in tha ruff....
Much love... <>*$dIaMoNd*$<>
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