Bummer Remix
I haven't done a post in a long time, but I feel so inspired tonight. My chest hurts, and I'm wide-awake and very tired at the same time. Today was supposed to be awesome: I had to work a long shift, but Matt and Kayti were coming up for a long weekend of fun. Amber and I had a good evening and then Matt and I moved a ton of furniture to a storage space. We went to Rally's, Kroger and White Castle, and then Matt and I got to playing some MarioKart Wii. We even watched stupid videos on YouTube, one being the terrible McDonald's dance scene from Mac and Me.
That's when I noticed a truck creeping down Sunset Drive, and I thought it looked a lot like my truck. I rushed to the kitchen window to see if mine was still there, and I didn't see it, so I rushed outside. Sure enough, it was gone. Yes, my truck has been stolen. I called the police immediately, giving a shitty description of my truck (that was revised later) and then ran back inside to tell Matt. We hung outside for quite awhile and then drove around some bad neighborhoods looking for it, with no luck. I'm now sitting on the floor, ready to pass out but too shaken and angry to do so. The dispatcher told me they'd call when an officer was on the way to talk to me, but with the recent layoff of forty-six police officers, it might be awhile.
I have some faith in my truck being recovered. A neighbor had her generic, white Buick Century stolen last week, one spot over from where my truck was taken, and it was used in a string of B&Es. It's been recovered, but looks very beaten now. It's not like it's just a vehicle to me either. I have full coverage on it, so if it's gone for good than I'll be fine. Still, it's the truck I learned to drive in, the truck my dad bought brand new in 1992, and the truck I've been driving for years. I've said it before: if I had to choose one of my vehicles over any other, it would be my truck, but now that might not matter.
All that's left of my truck; the back driver's side window was broken out to get in.
Another shot of the handiwork.
Glamour shots of my truck, taken in the winter:
I'm going to bed.
That's when I noticed a truck creeping down Sunset Drive, and I thought it looked a lot like my truck. I rushed to the kitchen window to see if mine was still there, and I didn't see it, so I rushed outside. Sure enough, it was gone. Yes, my truck has been stolen. I called the police immediately, giving a shitty description of my truck (that was revised later) and then ran back inside to tell Matt. We hung outside for quite awhile and then drove around some bad neighborhoods looking for it, with no luck. I'm now sitting on the floor, ready to pass out but too shaken and angry to do so. The dispatcher told me they'd call when an officer was on the way to talk to me, but with the recent layoff of forty-six police officers, it might be awhile.
I have some faith in my truck being recovered. A neighbor had her generic, white Buick Century stolen last week, one spot over from where my truck was taken, and it was used in a string of B&Es. It's been recovered, but looks very beaten now. It's not like it's just a vehicle to me either. I have full coverage on it, so if it's gone for good than I'll be fine. Still, it's the truck I learned to drive in, the truck my dad bought brand new in 1992, and the truck I've been driving for years. I've said it before: if I had to choose one of my vehicles over any other, it would be my truck, but now that might not matter.
All that's left of my truck; the back driver's side window was broken out to get in.
Another shot of the handiwork.
Glamour shots of my truck, taken in the winter:
I'm going to bed.