Back from the Dead
Iron Mountain smiled upon me Tuesday afternoon when my van was found on the north side of Jacksonville near Paxon Middle School. Surprisingly enough it wasn’t reduced to a glowing cinder heap. The sliding door window was broken and the ignition was ripped out. A black garbage bag served as an interim panel-window.
I took a look inside; every orifice had been violated. The glove compartment was emptied, the storage under the shotgun seat was thoroughly ransacked, and the perpetrator had even exposed a little nook under the console that I didn’t know was there. I’ve no idea what they expected to harvest from a weather-beaten soccer rocker. I wish I could’ve seen the look(s) on his/her/their face(s) when they found Jack Shit. That’ll teach ‘em to rob young urban white trash!
The police had no idea who stole the thing, and it didn’t seem to be high on their list of priorities. My own investigation turned up a pair of sunglasses I didn’t recognize, a blue-green rubber glove, and a bottle of Flavorite maple syrup. Thanks to the deductive powers of Ben the Roommate, I am of the opinion that the syrup was used to adhere the trash bag to the window whilst it was smashed with a bat or crowbar or some such blunt object. Once the ignition is removed, the van can be started with a mere flathead screwdriver (I tried it-it’s kinda fun! And now I know how to steal a car!). I now know why they stole my van despite its lack of a good stereo and a decent paint job. If I can start one of these without a key, they must be pretty damned easy.
The radio was tuned to a thug rap station and the seat was really close to the wheel. As if stealing it wasn’t bad enough, this really annoyed me. I readjusted the seat and tried to listen for awhile, partly to try to get a glimpse into the perpetrator’s criminal mindset, but mostly to distract me from the emerging reek of maple syrup. I soon gave up and spent the rest of the drive home searching the dial for some Creedence so I could thump on the roof like the Dude in The Big Lebowski after his car got snatched.
I took a look inside; every orifice had been violated. The glove compartment was emptied, the storage under the shotgun seat was thoroughly ransacked, and the perpetrator had even exposed a little nook under the console that I didn’t know was there. I’ve no idea what they expected to harvest from a weather-beaten soccer rocker. I wish I could’ve seen the look(s) on his/her/their face(s) when they found Jack Shit. That’ll teach ‘em to rob young urban white trash!
The police had no idea who stole the thing, and it didn’t seem to be high on their list of priorities. My own investigation turned up a pair of sunglasses I didn’t recognize, a blue-green rubber glove, and a bottle of Flavorite maple syrup. Thanks to the deductive powers of Ben the Roommate, I am of the opinion that the syrup was used to adhere the trash bag to the window whilst it was smashed with a bat or crowbar or some such blunt object. Once the ignition is removed, the van can be started with a mere flathead screwdriver (I tried it-it’s kinda fun! And now I know how to steal a car!). I now know why they stole my van despite its lack of a good stereo and a decent paint job. If I can start one of these without a key, they must be pretty damned easy.
The radio was tuned to a thug rap station and the seat was really close to the wheel. As if stealing it wasn’t bad enough, this really annoyed me. I readjusted the seat and tried to listen for awhile, partly to try to get a glimpse into the perpetrator’s criminal mindset, but mostly to distract me from the emerging reek of maple syrup. I soon gave up and spent the rest of the drive home searching the dial for some Creedence so I could thump on the roof like the Dude in The Big Lebowski after his car got snatched.