Larceny

After four months in Washington D.C. I finally became an actual resident our rat-infested nation’s capital. Three days later I received my official welcome to the city: a fucking brick through my car’s window. Thanks a pantload, asshole. And what, you might wonder, did this local derelict take after vandalizing my vehicle? Nothing but a goddamned five-year-old North Face jacket. What a shitty thief.

What? The Robert Goulet Greatest Hits LP was not to your liking? What about the Hannah Montana novelty plastic toy that sings “The Best of Both Worlds” when activated by motion? I hope to Christ that you had to listen to that god-forsaken diddy the ENTIRE time you rifled through my possessions—that were apparently not good enough for you to steal.

Even I’m not above pilfering a Ziploc bag full of quarters or a case full of mix tapes.

I also love that you took the underwear OUT of the duffel bag, and moved them onto the floor. Couldn’t you have just taken those? At least let me think you’re a creepy,  ladies’ underwear stealing thug and not a white girl from New England. Seriously, who else would break into a car for a North Face jacket?  I understand that times are tough, but I’m sure you could dig through the lost and found of ANY FUCKING ESTABLISHMENT ON THE EASTERN SEABOARD in order to procure a free one!

Man up. Rip out the stereo. Find my personal information in the glove box and attempt to steal my identity. Hot wire the car, take it for a joyride and dump it in the Potomac. I mean, if you’re going to do something, do it right, you stupid jacket thieving pussy!

Now, I am aware that my neighborhood is not the “best” in the city—we had a couple of shootings, a murder or two, a little mugging here and there—but it’s by no means the worst location. In fact I always feel quite safe where I parked my car. . .right next to the entrance of the Swiss Embassy. Now, I know that you’re quite busy protecting fanciful chocolates, Heidi, the wealth of shady foreigners and the integrity of your private schools, but maybe for one second, your security guard could glance to his right and at least give a dirty look to the hoodlums ransacking my vehicle. I mean, I guess whatever, you are just the Swiss Embassy. It’s not like my car was robbed in front of like, the Department of Homeland Security. . .

Oooohhhhh, wait, that’s right! IT WAS.

Now, although most people I know have been, at one point, auto-burgled in D.C., I’ve never actually witnessed such an event. Therefore, I have no idea what kind of attention these bandits garner when shattering the windows of these street parked treasure chests and mining through their cargo. What I CAN tell you is that if you park your car, eight inches from the guarded/gated entrance to Homeland Security a couple of goons can, without interruption, pry your window out of its seal, unlock your car door, rip your stereo out of the dash, destroy your vehicle’s temperature control dials and empty the contents of your trunk without anyone noticing. Whatever though, this happened during the Bush years. Those guys were clearly too busy tapping wires and disassembling WMD’s to possibly have time to defend MY homeland (Honda Civic).

Again though, I’m thankful that the crooks in this robbery were nothing, if not mildly retarded. Although they did manage to get the “custom” stereo out of the dash, and the “factory” stereo from the trunk, they missed entirely the spare set of car keys in the glove box. Great job! Maybe in a couple years you could break a window for a woman’s coat. Or maybe I should learn my lesson and start parking my car by liquor or check cashing stores instead of international and domestic government fortresses.