A lone patrol cop rang our doorbell at approximately 1:30 a.m. After not receiving an answer from us, he proceeded to knock.
I woke up David so that he could answer the door, but it turned out the fuzz was looking for me.
Someone had broken into my car.
My car, a 1998 white Nissan Maxima (yep, not exactly luxury), was parked at our usual Sunday night spot. David left it there somewhere in the vicinity of 7 p.m. because Monday morning is scheduled for the weekly street-sweeping.
The cop, Officer Jurow, requested I go with him to see what had been taken, or to see if anything had been left behind by the suspect. He said he’d wait in his squad car.
In disbelief I threw on my shoes, grabbed my phone, and with David right behind me, I bumbled down the stairs.
We walked to my car. The officer didn’t offer us a ride for the block-distance. I thought that was a bit rude.
The entire stroll, I just kept thinking, “Fuck, really?” I was running through the items in my car, trying to guess what had been taken. I was banking on the fact that whoever had done it wasn’t too bright.
As we walked up to my car, I remarked aloud that it seemed unusually darker. A street lamp might have been out.
My right passenger window was completely shattered. Few pieces lingered along the window frame. On the sidewalk pavement, the glass glittered in the low light of nearby street lamps.
I stood, staring, for a while. Staring at my car. Staring at the unholiness of the marred passenger door. Glaring at the unknowable specter who had violated my vehicle.
David opened the driver’s door to peer inside. Initially, I just looked up and down the street, my eyes spending a few seconds gazing at the dark windows of the houses adjacent to my car.
Maybe one of them had called the police. Maybe one of them had broken into my car.
The thief only took the GPS nav system that had been hidden from view in the glove compartment. Nothing else from the car was missing, not even the removable head unit for my stereo. Granted, there was not much of any real value in the car.
I immediately found that fact suspect. Only one item missing from my car, and that being the only item that was hidden.
We told Officer Jurow what was missing and answered his questions. We asked a couple of our own.
It turns out that someone had noticed the broken glass and decided to report it.
Huzzah for good neighbors?
Although he told us they would try to find the perpetrator, Officer Jurow also mentioned that it was very unlikely, which didn’t faze me in the slightest. When he had first told me my car had been broken into, I already knew there would not be much in the way of justice. These sorts of things happen all the time, and while it is exceedingly frustrating, I would rather the cops focus on other crimes any way.
We moved the car closer to our apartment. Well, David drove it. I walked back. At the moment, I am an exasperated ball of energy. After he parked, I decided to take everything out of the car, especially any items that had my name or any other identifying information on it. Out came the Batman Monopoly set, the CDs and the head unit.
David then taped a trash bag over the empty space that used to contain glass. When he came back, he pointed out that there was no dew in the interior of the car, but there was definitely dew all over the outside. I remember having difficulty peering into the other windows when we had first walked out to the car.
The dew means that the fucker had broken my window little more than an hour ago, if that.
On my brisk walk home, I texted a few people. Yes, I vent through texting. It’s better than sobbing or yelling, I assure you. After describing some of what happened to Cristian, he said that we are victims of a spotter.
Here is his definition:
They go into quiet areas to look for places to hit up. They take days or weeks to study people’s patterns before they break in.
If I knew how to adequately curse in a foreign language, I would absolutely do that right now.
This is ridiculously frustrating. Now I must deal with my insurance agency, find a place to fix my window, drive around like a hobo, and do without my car for a few days while it is being repaired.
Thank the gods that I live in a city that doesn’t require a personal vehicle, although this would likely never have happened in my quiet little town of Cerritos. Everyone can afford a lame ass GPS system there any way.
Balls, and of course, my mother will not help me out with this at all. My dad will likely not be happy about this.
That car is cursed. Every year, something terrible happens to it. I have been in two accidents in that car, and now it’s been burgled.