Submitted for your approval–One Exceedingly Stupid Sumbitch.
Last Thursday, as I was getting ready to leave for counseling, I saw a note from one of my roommates sitting on my desk. Apparently, it had been left there while I was in class. It read:
“Angel: call campus police. Your car’s been broken into. --GenericRoomie.”
As a result, I, in a state of panic, call the campus police. The person who answered the phone knew nothing about my car, and couldn’t find anyone who did. She suggested that I stop by later that night. So I went out to my car, expecting to see a broken window, or worse, a missing door. From a distance, I don’t see anything. Then, I try to stick my key into the doorlock on the driver’s side.
Nothing. Where my keyhole had been, there was a huge, gaping void. I look into my car–there are papers strewn around from my glove compartment, my cupholders are in pieces on the floor, and the emergency brake has been pulled up. I open the unlocked door, and do a quick inventory. All that seems to be missing is my cell phone charger and my dimes. My quarters and nickels, as well as my registration and other legal-related things, are still there. When I finally get to the police station, I found out the caught the guy who was breaking into the cars.
I file a police report last night, thank my lucky stars that they didn’t steal or demolish my car, and head home for spring break. The police officer estimates my damage to be about 100 dollars worth, probably less.
So I take my car in, and they look at it. The damage isn’t as simple as they thought. The cupholders won’t even fit back into their holes. And it isn’t just the cylinder that’s been popped from my lock–it’s a piece of the freakin’ door handle. Which means the entire thing is going to have to be replaced, and, since it’s my car’s LOCK, it isn’t something that I can ignore, like the missing fast forward button on my (unstolen) radio.
What’s it gonna cost? 275 dollars. For the lock alone–screw the cupholders. And the part won’t come in until Monday. I have an interview Friday, so I get my car back. I figure I’ll bring it in Tuesday and get it all taken care of. What do I see on the passenger’s seat when I get into my poor, damaged vehicle.
My cellphone charger. The person who broke into my car had, apparently, thrown it under my seat.
In other words, all the person stole was about seventy cents worth of dimes. And I’m mad as hell.
There were quarters and nickels there for the taking. I had three bucks worth of quarters, and two bucks worth of nickels. I have a radio. I have a fucking CD changer. I had a goddamned cell phone charger. And all he took were the fucking dimes.
What. The. Fuck.
What the hell were they ransacking my car for? Did they think that I keep gold underneath my passenger seat? Dubloons in the ashtray? Did they think I kept the Jade fucking Monkey in my glove compartment? What the HELL did they want from my car?
Seventy cents. I could stick a trumpet up my ass and play it on a street corner using solely the power of my own flatulence and earn more than seventy cents! And with my method, you don’t cause nearly three hundred dollars worth of damage to someone else’s property–unless, of course, you happened to steal the trumpet.
Now I can’t even properly lock my door. And my baby, my reliable '96 Contour that my mom used to drive, the only car I’ve ever owned, is broken. The bastard tore her apart for seventy cents. And he was a stupid fucking bastard who, apparently, not only wasn’t smart enough to avoid getting caught, but wasn’t smart enough to understand that quarters are worth more than dimes!
And yet his stupidity is costing me money.
I know the kid of the guy in charge of the campus police. Maybe if I bribe him, his dad’ll let me kick this wanker in the balls. And then stick a trumpet where the sun don’t shine.