Car Theft is a Funny Thing
// November 21st, 2008 // No Comments » // Holy Random Batman!, Life
So, now that I’ve had my car stolen twice in a month, I thought I might need to write down my experiences.
The first time, I was very confused. I didn’t know what to do, so I prayed for the thief, I prayed for the car, and I prayed that an officer would show up sometime soon. Meanwhile (meaning before I had time to call the cops, because I had to get to work) I walked to Northtown Coffee and asked to borrow someone’s car for a couple hours. My dear friend Jaclyn (who will probably never read this, but is cute as a button and has a wonderful heart, but I strangely have no feelings beyond friendship for her) tossed me her keys. After work, I called the cops and waited at the coffeehouse. While waiting, Ruth offered to lend me her scooter (a sweet Honda Ruckus) for the winter, as she and Dennis had no plans of driving it in the cold.
To sum up: I don’t know what happened to the thief, and the officer was delayed by about an hour, but my car was recovered at the police station parking lot because my friend Cherri saw it there, freaked out, and called everyone she knew (except me). Everyone then proceeded to call my phone to leave messages while I was working at Costco. I got the messages on my break and decided to finish out the rest of my shift (until 11pm) and wait until the next day to recover the car. I went the next day and decided it was mine, so I walked into the station and asked if someone could help me finish the report and all that jazz…
Two and a half hours later, an officer showed up, spent ten amusing minutes with me bemusing the intentions and the idiocy of the thief, and then sent me on my merry way.
The next day, I discovered a crack pipe, a wallet, and a cell phone amongst the belongings left in my car. I handed all the goodies in, laughing with the clerk about the growing legend that my car was writing.
Three days after I got the car back (by the way, the guy who stole it the first time had replaced a hydraulic arm on the liftgate and had fixed the power steering), someone busted in the little corner window on the front, stolen the $40 Walmart CD Player, torn apart the dash and the ignition, and left a couple of random items in there. The cops had apparently shown up in the early morning after having the broken window reported, but instead of calling me they rifled through all of my stuff and left an impound sticker on the window. Brilliant. I called the police department and was told to wait there until an officer came by. Three hours later, I got a call from an officer telling me he wouldn’t be coming by. Instead, I could take the sticker off the window and park it somewhere else. He needed three hours to come to that conclusion. Three. Whole. Hours. Brilliant.
Now, almost exactly a month later, I woke up on a day when I didn’t have to work, but I had a lot of errands to run. I walked around the apartment building to drive away, and faced an empty parking spot. I couldn’t remember if I had for sure parked there, so i walked back to the front to check the street. Nope. I pulled the PD card out of my wallet and got through the menu quickly enough to talk to a lady who recognized my name and jeep from the first report. She laughed, which reminded me that I needed to enjoy life. It was a beautiful day, I had a fun scooter to drive, I had love, life, breath, shelter, food, and purpose. Why did I need a jeep? The officer was there within ten minutes, which shocked me to no end. While speaking with him, my neighbor walked outside and said simply: “You’re kidding me. Again? No offense, but why would anyone take that piece of junk?” I laughed again, mostly because I was wondering the same question. The officer had a very simple answer: My piece of junk has proven easy to steal. People looking for a joyride don’t need something difficult to steal, they just want to get in and out quick.
Well, after a very busy last 24 hours (I booked reservations for our college event, bought a bus ticket, paid my power bill, paid my gas bill, ordered checks, had lunch with a friend, had dinner and game night at Kelly’s family’s house, hosted a wildly-successful college night, visited a friend in town for Thanksgiving, went to bed, went to work, went to Northtown, went to lunch, went to clear some issues with my bank) I walked back into Northtown. I had originally planned on going home and taking a nap, but something told me to swing by NT. I walked in and was nearly bowled over by Ruth’s excitement. “Willem, did you hear?! Some girl found your jeep. The same one as last time. She might be downstairs. She was trying to call you but didn’t have your number. I think her name’s Cherri. She said it’s on Yakima Ave. and 10th and there’s someone in it!” I checked downstairs…no Cherri. I called her phone…not accepting calls (Cherri, get a real phone). Jared called to say Cherri found the jeep and to go check on it. I asked 10th Ave or 10th St. He said Street, so I tossed my backpack behind the counter and hopped on the scooter and headed down Yakima Ave. It turns out, there’s no such thing as Yakima Ave. and 10th St. I headed back up the other way and saw a cop car parked at the Chevron on 7th Ave. and Yakima Ave, making a mental note to come back to them if it was indeed my car. I saw the jeep parked right where Cherri tried to say it was, circled back, walked into the Chevron, and blurted “I’m sorry to interrupt your lunch officer, but I just saw my stolen car parked three blocks away with someone in it, and I saw you here and thought you’d be more helpful than calling and waiting while it drives away.” They were quite confused at first, but the street-clothing-clad detective (I didn’t learn until later that he was a detective) took charge, saying “Lead the way, we’ll follow in the cars.” At that point, I had to remind him that while they’re armed with bulletproof vests and guns and tasers and pepper spray and combat training, I was armed with a shiny white moped helmet and a leatherman-brand pocketknife. “Good point, where is it? Follow us at a distance.”
When we pulled up, the guy in the passenger seat was hanging almost all the way out of the car and the door was flung wide open. They approached with guns drawn and called for backup (Backup ended up being two beat-cops in their cars, who parked directly behind me and directly to my left, blocking the entire right lane of traffic. This left me with marked cars with lights blaring parked behind me, to my left, and directly in front of me, penning me in on my scooter while I was texting and grinning like a fool. There was also an unmarked car with lights blaring, parked between the front car and my jeep. The next twenty minutes were a blur, but what I can say is that I never want to be put on the ground like that and no, the gang paraphernalia isn’t mine. No, the gas-siphoning equipment isn’t mine. No the hotwiring instruction card isn’t mine (although BONUS). Now I’m playing phone-tag with the detective and we’re unearthing all kinds of fun stuff. It’s been…well…special.