Post by Hucklebubba on Oct 12, 2005 23:58:25 GMT -5
On the way home from tonight's evening class, I decided to drop by the local Gamestop to see what was what. I snatched up a copy of Midway Arcade Treasures 3 (Hydro Thunder! Woo-hoo!), the clerk and I chewed various fats, and he tried to sell me a bunch of stuff.
Having successfully resisted his attempts at getting me to reserve a copy of Gun, (Not being able to afford it helps) I frolicked back out to my car, only to find that all of the doors had been unlocked, and the driver-side rear door was actually open slightly.
Here's the funny thing: Absolutely nothing was amiss. There wasn't anything gone that was supposed to be there, nor was there anything present that wasn't supposed to be there. I know this, because I have all of my car filth carefully catalogued and arranged in alphabetical order.
I had a recently-traded-in-for copy of Radiata Stories behind the passenger's seat, which was the first thing I checked. Still there. None of my college textbooks were missing. All of the passenger's-side floorboard garbage was just as I had left it.
There were no snakes under the seats, no dead bodies in the trunk that someone else was responsible for, nor live bodies in the trunk that wished to make a dead body out of me (the car doesn't have a trunk-popping button, but the trunk is accessible from the cabin, and vice-versa, by way of fold-down rear seats). No one was lying in the rear floorboard wishing to steal my kidneys for the sake of gang initiation. Since the discovery, my car has peformed no less than two explosion-free ignitions, and has also managed to accelerate past 55 and back down without blowing up.
You'd think I'd just be happy nothing was taken and no mischief perpetrated, but that wouldn't be very obsessive of me, would it? See, as much as I dislike the notion of having my car or the things in it stolen, having someone arbitrarily poke around in it bugs me to about the same degree.
I mean, they could have at least stolen my Taz air freshener, or stashed contraband of some sort, or maybe left a note that said, "It has always been my life's dream to one day briefly sit in the back seat of someone else's very plain mid-90s vintage sedan. Thank you, and God bless."
Considering that I drive a dark blue Chevy Corsica, the most common car in existence, it's very possible that someone else in the parking lot also owned a dark blue Chevy Corsica, successfuly used their keys on my car, panicked when they realized they were in the wrong vehicle, and ran screaming into the night, naked. After pausing to open the back door a crack.
Yeah, that's probably what happened.
(P.S. Did you like how I referred to the inside-part of the car as the "cabin?")
Having successfully resisted his attempts at getting me to reserve a copy of Gun, (Not being able to afford it helps) I frolicked back out to my car, only to find that all of the doors had been unlocked, and the driver-side rear door was actually open slightly.
Here's the funny thing: Absolutely nothing was amiss. There wasn't anything gone that was supposed to be there, nor was there anything present that wasn't supposed to be there. I know this, because I have all of my car filth carefully catalogued and arranged in alphabetical order.
I had a recently-traded-in-for copy of Radiata Stories behind the passenger's seat, which was the first thing I checked. Still there. None of my college textbooks were missing. All of the passenger's-side floorboard garbage was just as I had left it.
There were no snakes under the seats, no dead bodies in the trunk that someone else was responsible for, nor live bodies in the trunk that wished to make a dead body out of me (the car doesn't have a trunk-popping button, but the trunk is accessible from the cabin, and vice-versa, by way of fold-down rear seats). No one was lying in the rear floorboard wishing to steal my kidneys for the sake of gang initiation. Since the discovery, my car has peformed no less than two explosion-free ignitions, and has also managed to accelerate past 55 and back down without blowing up.
You'd think I'd just be happy nothing was taken and no mischief perpetrated, but that wouldn't be very obsessive of me, would it? See, as much as I dislike the notion of having my car or the things in it stolen, having someone arbitrarily poke around in it bugs me to about the same degree.
I mean, they could have at least stolen my Taz air freshener, or stashed contraband of some sort, or maybe left a note that said, "It has always been my life's dream to one day briefly sit in the back seat of someone else's very plain mid-90s vintage sedan. Thank you, and God bless."
Considering that I drive a dark blue Chevy Corsica, the most common car in existence, it's very possible that someone else in the parking lot also owned a dark blue Chevy Corsica, successfuly used their keys on my car, panicked when they realized they were in the wrong vehicle, and ran screaming into the night, naked. After pausing to open the back door a crack.
Yeah, that's probably what happened.
(P.S. Did you like how I referred to the inside-part of the car as the "cabin?")
