Yes, there were bits of glass everywhere (even in the air vents) from the smashed-in side window. And yes, the glove compartment and the two other storage spaces in the front of the car were ransacked.
But from those three compartments, only two things were missing: the remote, and the faceplate case, for the stereo.
I don’t know how *not* to be grateful that whoever broke into my car was so consise and efficient about it all, that the stereo was removed so cleanly and without damage to anything else within the car. He (as I perpetuate the social stereotype here) even was thoughtful enough to remove the central sound plug– the one whose absence last time required an additional week’s wait at the shop– and leave it behind in the cupholder. That one little act makes me wont to believe he had tried the door handle first, and had only broken in the window as a final resort. That he had been a little regretful about making such a mess with the window– and that, had it not been a matter of time, had there not been the risk of getting caught by lingering too long, he would have put all the papers and miscellany back into the compartments before taking off.
As before, I just keep thinking back to this poem, though this time of its central theme of quiet, if not stunned, gratitude:
for knowing what you were here for,
for tending to your business without rage.
It was probably too dark for him to notice what poor condition my lavender Dooney purse (the only irrelevant item that was taken) was in, else he would have realized that it was hardly worth taking. It could never be regifted, and it would cost more than what I paid for it to have the dirt and scented-oil stains removed. There wasn’t even anything of value in there, though I am thoroughly humiliated by the fact that my silver business-card case was in that purse. Because inside that case, as a joke, I’d put some of my Internet cards, which were a joke in themselves.
It pains me to think that he opened that case and saw those cards, believed I had made and printed them in all seriousness, and now thinks I must be one hell of a narcissistic and egotistical broad.
But then, it also gives me hope that he’ll follow the URL at the bottom and find this entry and will thereby know that should the holiday spirit stir something within his heart, I would be much obliged if he could somehow return my weather- and circumstance-beaten purse, which is honestly in such terrible condition and not even easily identified as a Dooney & Bourke item that I cannot fathom how it would be worth anything to anyone (even Goodwill wouldn’t accept it for resale). Because D&B doesn’t make that style of purse anymore, and it has great sentimental value to me.
Though, if the purse is a no-go, maybe just that charm tied to one of the side rings? It’s a keepsake from my very dear trip to San Jose last January and again, I’m hard-pressed to think it has any monetary value. My CDs, which were grossly ignored, even the ones still in their original cases (except for the one in the CD player, which could only have been ejected with the car turned on, so no hard feelings about it being taken– again, there’s that sneaking suspicion that had he been able to, he would have removed it and left it in the car– although it *would* have to be the Eddie Izzard album I’d not yet backed up to my hard drive), and those could at least have been traded in at a used music store. Those at least could have been worth something. I don’t think my Monokuro Boo cell phone charm is.
And, see? I can even provide stealthy suggestions as to how to execute the return: throw it in a bag (I need hardly remind you to wear gloves while doing this, because you are seasoned at what you do, hardly a foolish amateur), plastic or paper, wrap it up tight to make the entre package as condensed– and thereby aerodynamic– as possible (perhaps secure it with tape?), and then in the middle of the night (you know how to travel in this neighborhood unnoticed, as you have already proven), quickly hurl the package out your window as you stealthily drive by. It could land in the driveway, or if you’d like to boast your aim and pitching abilities, try throwing it at the front door– or even somewhere in the front "lawn" of desert landscaping would be fine.
If not for Christmas, then perhaps for my birthday later this month? It would mean the world to me to have those two things back.
Also, I do wish you’d taken the roll of wintergreen mints that were in the cupholder. I’ve been trying to pawn them off to people for a week now– how was I to know they weren’t sugar-free at the time? And I eat only sugar-free mints. But it seems such a waste to throw the whole roll away, now.
And– though, how could you have known?– to be perfectly honest, I wish you’d broken in the driver’s side window, as the film on that side desperately needed to be replaced anyway.
Furthermore, in the aftermath of vacuuming up the glass, my car hasn’t been so meticulously clean in a very long time, so I suppose you’re to be given credit for that, as well. I can almost hear one of my ex-boyfriends sighing heavily to himself– "So *this* is what it takes to get her to clean the inside of her car!"
As for the stereo– did you notice the tiny bits of gum on the right navigation button? Those weren’t there because I’m a disgusting slob; they’re there because that button chattered like a motherfucker whenever the car was in motion, and those miniscule bits of gum absorbed the car’s vibrations enough to get it to shut the hell up. Just FYI.
Anyway. The purse-and-charm thing. Think about it? Maybe? Please? I suppose you could even just chuck it over the back wall (remember: second house in from the corner), but don’t throw it too hard, as then it might land in the pool. Though if it were well-sealed in a plastic bag, maybe that wouldn’t be an issue.
For all you regular readers, I’ll be in the Annex the rest of this week.