I never kept my car very clean. It just wasn't important to me. I used to store things in my car because the mere idea of making more than one trip to 'unload' was unearthly torture. So mathematically speaking, the amount of crap would exponentially grow until I was disgusted enough to grab some garbage backs and just start throwing shit out. I rarely kept anything of great value in my car. I knew better than to leave things like my computer or cell phone for any great length of time. When I lived further south in the city I very much respected the car thieves in the area. I knew that if I tempted them they would oblige their greedy need to take what is not theirs. But, I moved north, to a tree lined street where I parked between fancy cars with foreign names, and I was lulled in to complacency.
I frequently left my laundry for several days at a time in my car, until I had a free hand, or the ideal parking spot. I often left my gym bag because I would go on my way home from work. I left my bowling shoes, because, I always drove to bowling. I left a lot of things in my car. This particular instance, I had just partook in a completely indulgent shopping trip. I had bought a beautiful new dress that I intended on wearing for my thirtieth birthday along with a beautiful pair of shoes and completely inappropriate but super fun sandals. The upcoming weekend was going to be spent with a close friend at a spa and I wanted show off my new wares, so I left them in my car. I parked my car in the typical spot, across the street from the Catholic school.
Fast forward to the morning. I was carrying my cup of coffee and work bag. When I got to my car I noticed that something was wrong, but I couldn't process what had happened. I never knew that brains could work as slowly as my was, but it took me at least twenty seconds to realize that the broken passenger window and my belongings strewn about meant that I had been robbed.
I didn't know what to do, I had to get to work, so I did my best to brush the broken glass off my seat and headed to the suburbs. My parents were my first call because I knew they would answer the phone at that hour and help me due to my lack of processing ability. My dad provided me with appropriately concise directions to just drive home (which is very close to work). So I headed to the burbs, sans a front passenger window. Luckily the weather was already very much spring so my trembling hands were only a little bit caused by the temperature. Slowly the shock began to wear off and I started to be able to take inventory of what was stolen from me. In no particular order:
Three loads of dirty laundry
Gym bag with gym shoes that had the orthotics in them
New Dress
New shoes
New Sandals
12 pack of diet coke
Bowling shoes
Costco party pkg of 'mixers'
CDs - Pink, Abba, Beyonce, Best of the 80s,
Grad school text book on Dysphagia
Cell phone charger
Sun glasses
Mail
One check from check book
Pack of crayons
Probably more, but I left the actual list at work, and I cannot remember more
Anyway, needless to say I was in emotional turmoil. I was feeling super violated. I was angry at the theieves, but mostly at myself. Most of my tears that morning were shed because I was so angry at myself for being so stupid. I mourned the loss of my newest purchases by cyclically moving between anger and sadness. My parents immediately kicked into parent mode and jumped to my aide as though I was a 6 year old with a scraped knee. It was appreciated. My dad drove me to work and told me not to worry about anything they would take it to the shop and get the process going.
Once I got to work, I was shaking. I was so scared and angry and sad and frustrated and embarrassed and sad. How the heck was I going to work with small children? I decided to take the day off. I had to go to the bank and cancel my checking account, so I borrowed my co-workers car and drove there. On my way, I called my "friend" (confusing, complicated relationship not integral part of the story) and he said he would be right there to help.
He met me at the bank and we made inappropriate jokes about getting robbed and slowly the shock began to wear off and the defense mechanism of humor kicked in. After signing a thousand pieces of paper I had officially closed and opened a new account, I was entirely directionless. My friend asked what I wanted to do and I could think about was replacing my recently purchased items. So the trek and journey to get them began. It started at Nordstrom rack in OBT, where I only broke down twice in the store, which made the odd looking saleslady only slightly uncomfortable. We then drove to the city were one of the pairs of shoes was on hold, and I ordered the dress from a store in Georgia. The poor lady in Georgia had a difficult time understanding me through my choked up voice and my northern accent, but we figured it out.
The replacement window cost $200 dollars, but getting robbed COST me a lot. I still don't feel totally comfortable leaving my apartment for more than a few days at a time, for fear that I will really be robbed. I still get irritated when I want to wear something that was stolen from me. I take some consolation in that someone actually took the time to steal my dirty underwear as well as a twelve pack of diet coke... odd very odd thieves.
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