That would be my car…

Poor car...

Poor car…

I had every intention of posting a sexy little fiction piece today, but when I got out of my dance class (Twerk and Burn) last night, my passenger’s side window had been shattered.

The bastard was after an old (very old) Coach laptop bag, and although inside the bag wasn’t a laptop (thank God), there was an iPad.

While I was a little sad about my now-gone iPad, I was more upset about the fact that I have nothing to read ebooks on, or my digital subscription to The New York Times. Sad.

But, I was glad they didn’t take anything else β€” left in the car was cash in my center console, a Kate Spade coffee tumbler, and a $200 bag from Anthropologie (worth way more than the bag they took). I was really glad about that (it’s plaid and has sequins on it, and I just love it).

Of course, none of that is really the thing that sucks. What SUCKS is that on top of having to drive home without a window, I now have to leave work today to have my window replaced (and pay $350). And because I don’t have a garage or a car port, my car just chilled outside all night covered with a plastic trash bag.

Classy.

At first, I didn’t notice the window. I actually got into my car and saw all of these sparkles everywhere. Glass. Then I realized what had happened and called the police. There were “no police available” to talk to me, according to the customer service rep, so she said they would call me within 24 hours (it’s been 12 and I haven’t heard anything).

I had so much glass in the driver’s seat, the dance studio lent me a broom to clean some of it out, while the owner of a nearby restaurant inquired, and said he was sick of all the break-ins happening in that parking lot.

“There’s a lot of homeless nearby and they just wander the lot and look in cars for things they want,” he said.

This was disheartening.

Obviously, I’ll never know who took my things, and I won’t know the situation they’re in. I honestly hope it wasn’t a homeless person. Why? Because I spent my Thanksgiving morning trying to help at least one homeless person. And because, when I see a homeless person, I never think badly of them. I always think, wow, there’s been times in my life where I was probably one paycheck away from being THEM.

So, I hope, really, that it was just some asshole who really thought they needed a Coach bag. Because I bought that bag as a treat for myself after a breakup… a breakup six years ago. The handle was barely sewn on, and the material was fading. If someone would have just said, “Hey give me that bag,” I would have given it up in a second.

And the iPad? It was a first generation that I solely used for reading. It was handy, but nothing detrimental to my life.

And yes, I sure as shit feel like a dumb ass for leaving those things in my car. I USUALLY make an effort to hide my things under my seat, but of course the one time I didn’t… The funny part is, I had originally parked further away from the studio, and I thought no, there’s got to be a spot closer, so I moved my car closer. Still didn’t work.

According to the restauranteur, it doesn’t matter where you park, there are always break-ins.

I’m really not mad about it, but I spent a good minute picking glass shards off my thighs after my drive home (before guzzling a double vodka and soda), and I was terrified to go to sleep, thinking someone would break in.

I KNOW these types of things happen everywhere, but people keep asking me what I think of Austin, and I’ll be honest: a lot of things that have happened to me here, have never happened before. The mouse. The break in. Is this payback for getting an awesome job? I certainly hope not, as I plan on being here for a minute.

Anyway, I’m done complaining. After all, it’s Friday, and I’m getting a new window at 2:30. May you ALL have a fantastic weekend β€” unless you’re the person that stole my shit and you’re reading it from MY iPad!

Then I hope that shitty Coach bag strangles you.

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Posted on December 11, 2015, in Light Pulp and tagged , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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