Current mood:

aggravated

Transportation Reconciliation.
On a rare day of respite from the furnace-like heat-wave of the past couple weeks, cygnoir and I left the house this afternoon to find that my car had been stolen. Going, gone, nothing there. A few heart-skips later, we called the polis and waited two hours too long to have them come by the house for a report, which never came. Handful of trail mix and gargantuan cup of tea later, we decided to abort and take the claim to them. But her car was also gone. The city, this time, had it from a minute "hazard" violation. This means that some terribly picky homeowner had her vehicle impounded because her bumper was in a block of red that bordered their driveway. This kind of thing happens all the time in San Francisco. Except we never let our bumpers stick out if we can help it. Nor did she this time. But San Franciscans are picky. They're not happy with a warning note, as we plaster to windshields so often in our neighborhood. They want justice.

Shock and awe. MUNI ride to Bryant and the car yard, skirting a man who pulled down his pants in front of us and literally shit all over the sidewalk, then kept on walking right on down the road. Paid the ridiculous holding and administration fees and then off, driving again, to the police station to file the claim. The dealership told me when I bought the car that it was the #1 color, make, and model stolen within San Francisco limits. Its parts are worth ten times that of the car itself on the black market. But it's never been stolen until now, ten years on. I keep the seats clear of tempting items, I have an alarm system, and I'm careful about where I park it. I'm mindful of these things, but sometimes it doesn't matter. This was directly in front of my house, must have been in the middle of the night. And while we have a garage, we share it with our housemates.

Both the police and my insurance company were concerned about the nature in which the car disappeared. Just one week before, it was in the shop getting repaired after some unaccountable Marin Country twat entered our private work parking lot and destroyed the front of the Acura without leaving a note. The repairs were worth thousands and I had just gotten it back, shinyclean. As for the heist, there was no broken glass. My alarm system cuts the engine when active. It was absolutely locked and alarmed, as per usual. The police said that some professionals use tow trucks to remove their quarry, but how coincidental is it that my keys were just in the possession of who-knows and a week later, for the first time in a decade, it gets stolen cleanly from directly in front of my house? Without implicating anyone explicitly, there will certainly be an investigation taking place.

I lost some personal things from within the car, it's true. Dozens of CDs, mostly made redundant by the digital revolution; some ornaments that I've loved greatly; my wool tartan blanket from the trunk. Other things as well, but nothing monumentally devastating. Nor is the loss of the car. I've been oddly calm for much of the day, though a little miffed at the frustration of it all: mostly regarding monetary expenditure and knowing I'll need a daily commuter that does what the Acura has done for years. She was in great condition, and she's the only one I've ever had. I mean, the bastards just got away with a topped-up $50 tank of gas. What a waste.

But I've taken some things from this experience, and I believe they're for the better. I'm upset that something like this happened, and I certainly feel violated. But I simply cannot plug into the mindset of unconscionable assholery that plans and executes robberies like this. And as they go, this was a minor one. I still have everything I need, and the best things in my life are immaterial. There is a prevalent feeling that I do my very best to be good and kind to the world, and that I don't deserve such treatment from others who don't even know me. But I'm comfortable knowing that the world is not good and bad - it just is. We can be good and feel good and hope to brush up with mostly good by our choices great and small...and bad will still happen. It's how we choose to deal with that adversity that makes us who we are. And shouting and stomping and hating my fellow humankind - which I often do, anyway - won't help me here. In fact, I'm shrugging it off and realizing that it comes down to this: I have not a single problem hoping that the bastards who took the car make a wrong move in their lives of crime and selfishness get their brains dashed out upon the very windshield which they pilfered. I'd have not a single regret about it. The world needs less of them. But all the hoping and cursing in the world won't get it back, and I can go on feeling much lighter, thankful that I live a good life with good people around me. It's the closest thing to rolling with the punches that I know how to do.

And I'll miss the Acura, and I won't expect to see her or any of the sundries within ever again. They'll probably find the steering column and seats ripped out somewhere in the East Bay. But we had some good times, and I loved zipping around in her. Now, as a Taurean control-freak, I do my best to let it go and look ahead to other transport, to other rides, and the fact that I'm lucky enough to do so. You can take my car, but you'll never take...my Fritos.

Ol' Bessie, modeled by the inimitable hermiston a few years back in West Marin.