Tuesday, May 20, 2014

I'm Just a Woman of Simple Means Who's Acquired a Taste for the Finer Things

When people think of me, they mostly think something like, “Yes, she's a refined lady who likes quality fine cars.”

For example, this is my dream car:

It's a Ford Focus hatchback. 

But I've settled for something a little more reasonable:

Combined with my banjo/ukulele possession and my serial vintage-dress-wearing ways, this 24-years-young Volvo 240 DL transforms me into the near-perfect MPDG trope. (I got the  purebred chihuahua on sale.)

It's not that (in addition to a lot of parts falling off lately) the doors don't lock: It's just that you have the option of either locking one door or locking three.

The parking lot of the building I live in is notorious for break ins—most likely performed by drunk people filtering out of the bar across the street along with the occasional drive-by/window-smashing burglary. My theft-preventative measures have been to neither bother locking one door nor three and to leave the car full of mostly garbage and devoid of anything of value.

Or so I thought.

I returned from an 11-day-Southern-U.S. voyage to find my driver's side door slightly ajar. Examining the fine vinyl interior, I couldn't help but notice that my usually garbage-y-filled vehicle seemed extra tidy. For a thief had stolen a large amount of garbage along with, from what I can tell, the following items:

  • A plethora of extremely scratched burned CDs containing roadtrip soundtracks compiled by a friend
  • Some 90's-era cassette tapes
  • A 12-pack of La Croix sparkling water
  • A yoga mat

I know I should be mad, but...I can't help but identify with this thief. Usually being robbed is a horrible experience: a thief steals your digital camera before you've backed up your photos of that Laotian waterfall; a Turkish guesthouse owner presses his mouth on yours and steals something you usually reserve for less-disgusting people you sort of like a little; someone steals your dead-dog-filled suitcase off the subway.

But I don't think this thief—whoever and wherever they are—meant me any harm. I just think they were thirsty, stressed out and looking for some good tunes. I wish them well.


  1. My first car was a 1984 Volvo. It was the best!! I miss that old tank.


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