A closer examination of my stolen-found purple Saturn, during the Monday-morning drive to work, revealed:
The bastard took the tire pressure gauge and changed the seat-belt height adjustment. Short little sociopath.
Did I forget to mention in the first post that the slimeball folded up the spring-loaded sunscreens and left them in the back seat? I don't have the manual dexterity to fold them. Sheesh.
The unkindest cut of all: The pond-scum-eater changed a bunch of settings on the radio. Apparently he/she/it likes FM stations 93.7, 102.9 and 92.9 better than my choices, including KUNR 88.7. Sociopaths don't like NPR! Or classical music.
However, the (insert your favorite George Carlin noun here) left 106.9 FM and 1270 AM. Go figure.
-30-
30 June 2008
Stolen purple-car adventure
Somewhere in Northern Nevada, there should be a very confused car thief. He parked a stolen purple Saturn, went into a casino … when he came out the stolen car was gone.
I hope that’s what happened after I drove my stolen-found purple coupe home Sunday. Unless, of course, he dumped it because it was out of gas. It’s easier to steal another car than pay $4.22 a gallon for gas. For this bastard, it’s easier to steal a Saturn than steal gasoline.
The blow-by-blow:
2 p.m. Sunday, June 29, 2008: I open my front door, pick up the newspaper and notice that my driveway is empty.
The Saturn is gone. Vanished. Through the stargate. Beamed up, Scotty. It was there when I finished watering the yard at sunset Saturday night. As to why I hadn't looked outside earlier in the day ... I'm NOT a morning person.
2:15 p.m.: Call Sparks Police Department. Lady on the phone asks, “What kind of car is it?” Saturn, I said. “Uh oh,” she said. “We’ve had several Saturns stolen lately.” I supply details for her questions.
2:30 p.m.: Two police officers arrive in a squad car. More questions, more details. I actually find the current insurance papers, with the VIN, despite being 10 months behind in household-bookkeeping filing. They said there’s a serial Saturn thief at work in the Truckee Meadows. If it’s dumped in Sparks, we’ll find it, they said. If it’s dumped elsewhere, we can’t guarantee anything. Yori and Grove streets seem to collect stolen cars, but don’t go there at night.
3 p.m.: Linda comes in with her Z and we proceed back to Lockwood with stops at the Post Office and at Kragen to get a mirror to stick on the empty driver’s side wing mirror. The original mirror departed the car on the freeway a few days after Linda got the Z. I drive the borrowed Z home, while Linda helps her neighbor with malfunctioning water sprinklers.
3:30 p.m. Back at home, I start the laundry running and use my computer for homework. In my mind, I’m putting together the equipment to waterboard the bastard.
5:30 p.m.: Sparks PD calls. Saturn is in the parking lot at Rail City. Can I come get it? The Z and I head for Rail City, after I call Linda. We are both amazed. Terrible's Rail City casino is 10 blocks west of my home.
5:45 p.m.: I find officer Schreiber and the Saturn, on the east side of the casino. He asks me to look through the windows, without touching the car. Candy wrappers, brown Starbucks bag, 12-pack of Coca Cola (one can open), 7-Eleven receipt. Under the driver’s seat, a CD case full of discs with Mexican titles. He bags the Coke can, not-my-stuff from Saturn’s trash bag, candy wrappers, etc. He dusts the rear-view mirror and door around the handle, but finds only a lot of smudges. On the floor in the back seat, there is a black plastic tray that doesn’t fit anything in my car. The passenger seatback is tilted as far back as it will go. The RGJ parking sticker is gone from the front windscreen. Also, the worn-out seatbelt pad. I sign a release, he radios SPD to take the car off the stolen list, and I’m ready to head for home at 6:20 p.m. However, the gas tank is empty, so I stop at the Chevron at Victorian and 16th, where I notice the cigarette lighter is gone. Fill-up costs $42.
6:55 p.m.: Whittlesea cab takes me back to Rail City ($7.10; gave him a $10) and I drive the Z home. First gear is my nemesis, now and forever.
11:30 p.m.: Writing this reminds me of something else to check.
11:34 p.m.: The insurance and registration forms are OK, still in the owner’s manual in the glovebox.
12:20 a.m.: I should be more shook up, but the reason I have the Saturn is that its predecessor, a 1980 280ZX, was stolen in 1996. I remember the absolute blankness of my mind as I wandered around the parking lot, trying to get my brain around the fact that the car I parked there a couple of hours ago was nowhere to be seen. I remember the shaking knees, the stomach ache, the battle not to barf. The Reno PD found my sports car 35 days later, after I bought the Saturn. I compared the less-than-peppy but brand-new, air-conditioned Saturn to the 16-year-old zippy Z in need of new tires, a third paint job and repairs for all the little things the bastards who stole it broke. The Z got sold.
I do miss that car. However, the air conditioner in Linda’s old Z doesn’t work and, boy, was it hot Sunday. Driving the Saturn home with the air cooling … I’ll keep the Saturn.
With The Club on the steering wheel and not in the trunk.
-30-
I hope that’s what happened after I drove my stolen-found purple coupe home Sunday. Unless, of course, he dumped it because it was out of gas. It’s easier to steal another car than pay $4.22 a gallon for gas. For this bastard, it’s easier to steal a Saturn than steal gasoline.
The blow-by-blow:
2 p.m. Sunday, June 29, 2008: I open my front door, pick up the newspaper and notice that my driveway is empty.
The Saturn is gone. Vanished. Through the stargate. Beamed up, Scotty. It was there when I finished watering the yard at sunset Saturday night. As to why I hadn't looked outside earlier in the day ... I'm NOT a morning person.
2:15 p.m.: Call Sparks Police Department. Lady on the phone asks, “What kind of car is it?” Saturn, I said. “Uh oh,” she said. “We’ve had several Saturns stolen lately.” I supply details for her questions.
2:30 p.m.: Two police officers arrive in a squad car. More questions, more details. I actually find the current insurance papers, with the VIN, despite being 10 months behind in household-bookkeeping filing. They said there’s a serial Saturn thief at work in the Truckee Meadows. If it’s dumped in Sparks, we’ll find it, they said. If it’s dumped elsewhere, we can’t guarantee anything. Yori and Grove streets seem to collect stolen cars, but don’t go there at night.
3 p.m.: Linda comes in with her Z and we proceed back to Lockwood with stops at the Post Office and at Kragen to get a mirror to stick on the empty driver’s side wing mirror. The original mirror departed the car on the freeway a few days after Linda got the Z. I drive the borrowed Z home, while Linda helps her neighbor with malfunctioning water sprinklers.
3:30 p.m. Back at home, I start the laundry running and use my computer for homework. In my mind, I’m putting together the equipment to waterboard the bastard.
5:30 p.m.: Sparks PD calls. Saturn is in the parking lot at Rail City. Can I come get it? The Z and I head for Rail City, after I call Linda. We are both amazed. Terrible's Rail City casino is 10 blocks west of my home.
5:45 p.m.: I find officer Schreiber and the Saturn, on the east side of the casino. He asks me to look through the windows, without touching the car. Candy wrappers, brown Starbucks bag, 12-pack of Coca Cola (one can open), 7-Eleven receipt. Under the driver’s seat, a CD case full of discs with Mexican titles. He bags the Coke can, not-my-stuff from Saturn’s trash bag, candy wrappers, etc. He dusts the rear-view mirror and door around the handle, but finds only a lot of smudges. On the floor in the back seat, there is a black plastic tray that doesn’t fit anything in my car. The passenger seatback is tilted as far back as it will go. The RGJ parking sticker is gone from the front windscreen. Also, the worn-out seatbelt pad. I sign a release, he radios SPD to take the car off the stolen list, and I’m ready to head for home at 6:20 p.m. However, the gas tank is empty, so I stop at the Chevron at Victorian and 16th, where I notice the cigarette lighter is gone. Fill-up costs $42.
6:55 p.m.: Whittlesea cab takes me back to Rail City ($7.10; gave him a $10) and I drive the Z home. First gear is my nemesis, now and forever.
11:30 p.m.: Writing this reminds me of something else to check.
11:34 p.m.: The insurance and registration forms are OK, still in the owner’s manual in the glovebox.
12:20 a.m.: I should be more shook up, but the reason I have the Saturn is that its predecessor, a 1980 280ZX, was stolen in 1996. I remember the absolute blankness of my mind as I wandered around the parking lot, trying to get my brain around the fact that the car I parked there a couple of hours ago was nowhere to be seen. I remember the shaking knees, the stomach ache, the battle not to barf. The Reno PD found my sports car 35 days later, after I bought the Saturn. I compared the less-than-peppy but brand-new, air-conditioned Saturn to the 16-year-old zippy Z in need of new tires, a third paint job and repairs for all the little things the bastards who stole it broke. The Z got sold.
I do miss that car. However, the air conditioner in Linda’s old Z doesn’t work and, boy, was it hot Sunday. Driving the Saturn home with the air cooling … I’ll keep the Saturn.
With The Club on the steering wheel and not in the trunk.
-30-
10 June 2008
Who's punished now?
The Midwest is under water, the South has twisters ... whose evil actions have brought the wrath of God down upon thousands as punishment for the actions of a few?
I'm sure there are whacko preachers out there with lists of names of sinners ripe for smiting.
Too bad their deity has such bad aim.
-30-
I'm sure there are whacko preachers out there with lists of names of sinners ripe for smiting.
Too bad their deity has such bad aim.
-30-
05 June 2008
RIP, RFK
June 5, 1968 ... Everybody of my generation remembers where they were when they heard of the murder of Jack Kennedy. Bobby K., not so much.
I was near the end of my first year as a clerk-gofur-reporter at the Reno Evening Gazette. Already I didn't enjoy reporting.
June 6 sealed the fact. I was ordered out for a person-on-the-street story. I did OK until I stopped a 60ish foursome on the sidewalk to ask for their reaction. They were from Boston. Hadn't heard.
One man stood there and cried, silently.
One woman turned pale — ghost white — and fainted. Her husband caught her before she hit the ground.
The other woman screamed. And screamed. And screamed. Heads turned. A police car slowed down as it rolled past.
I doubt they heard my apology as I slunk away.
The on-the-street interview was shorter than my editor expected ... I left out the Bostonians.
-30-
I was near the end of my first year as a clerk-gofur-reporter at the Reno Evening Gazette. Already I didn't enjoy reporting.
June 6 sealed the fact. I was ordered out for a person-on-the-street story. I did OK until I stopped a 60ish foursome on the sidewalk to ask for their reaction. They were from Boston. Hadn't heard.
One man stood there and cried, silently.
One woman turned pale — ghost white — and fainted. Her husband caught her before she hit the ground.
The other woman screamed. And screamed. And screamed. Heads turned. A police car slowed down as it rolled past.
I doubt they heard my apology as I slunk away.
The on-the-street interview was shorter than my editor expected ... I left out the Bostonians.
-30-
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)