What’s Wrong With This Picture?
Our car was stolen last night.
During the night some knucklehead, with a key, got into the car and took it out of our driveway. I noticed it was gone this morning at about 8:15 AM.
I called the Terre Haute Police Dept. and spent 11 minutes and 24 seconds listening to a fine man try to type my information, one finger at a time. After that I really needed my morning coffee. So, I headed to St. Arbucks for a sip and a prayer. I used the SUV that my wife, the lovely and as mystified as I, Dawn, drives.
I ordered my usual and before I could even sit down – my phone rang.
It was the Police – they had located the missing car, sitting in a field about 15 miles south of Terre Haute (That’s French for, “I need a ride at 4 AM to an empty field.”).
I told Dawn immediately and we headed down to the impromptu parking lot to check out what was left of our Toyota.
When we got there I was stunned. Aside from some mud, there was no damage to the vehicle.
Our friendly car thief left behind an odd collection of things that I guess he no longer wanted. Things like:
The receipt for a recent oil change in his vehicle – complete with name and address.
His empty money clip (with his engraved initials).
A few Alan Jackson CDs. Sorry, Alan. You’ve been jilted in favor of my meager collection of B’way Shows, Irish tunes, Hawaiian Music, and a couple of obscure jazz singers.
He must have spent the evening test driving different cars.
There were also a couple of keys, one of which was labeled, “Mom.”
Our Master Felon also took my 10 year old XM portable radio that is now rendered inoperable after one phone call. Street Value – Approximately: a buck and a quarter if you throw in a buck in cash.
The only thing that I will really miss is my “Gimp Ticket” – my handicapped parking placard that hangs from the mirror. I can get that replaced in about twenty minutes.
I took all of this detritus of an empty mind to the TH Police Dept. HQ, where they bagged it up, looked serious while trying not to laugh, and agreed that the only thing the jackass didn’t leave behind was a snapshot of himself.
One curious element in all this is that our Charter Member of the Not-Mensa Club is that – he had a key. He left that behind in the car too. He had a key, made at Walmart, that opened the door and started the ignition.
I’d now like to leave a personal message to “Dwayne.”
I now know more about you than you know about me. I haven’t listed everything you left behind in my car. The Devil is in the details, Dwayne.
I doubt that you will ever read this blog, or anything else above the level of an “Archie and Veronica” comic book, but on the off chance that you know someone who can read, they can pass along the following message.