This one is purely personal.
Today I awoke to find that the car was stolen from our driveway last night.
That car wasn’t a great car. It wasn’t even the kind of car I really liked. It was a simple car, a basic car. A 90′s era Ford Taurus, entry level, bought used for less than three thousand dollars. It was a car that is worth more as discrete parts than it is as a whole car, but it was ours, and it has a history.
It was bought because of me. It was the car that carried me back and forth to the surgeon I saw for my first major thing, the car that held my elation when I went in for my name change, the car that brought me together with family, and the car that gave my pups something exciting every day.
It was a decent little car.
I was robbed maybe three times total in my life before I transitioned. Not counting the time someone stuck a gun in my face — that wasn’t robbing me, that was robbing someone else.
Since then, though…
Someone came into my home one day and stole all my electronics. Cell phones, laptop, odds and ends. There was a dog in the house, but it was silent, and this happened while I was awake.
Then we had tools stolen off the back porch, along with an expensive bike, and a large measure of extra chain link for a fence.
Then someone stole our patio furniture when I went on a trip for a weekend.
Now they have taken the car. The only car, that isn’t even mine. The car that was my best means of doing my work.
I am not a happy camper. I am an angry camper. I am an angry camper who is going to rig the next car so that if some mother fucker tries to steal it, it will blow them to hell 15 minutes after they drive off with it.
With the car went all the tools we had just finished replacing after they had been stolen. Tools the value of which is greater than the car, because those are the tools we used to do the work at the Residence and at home, the slow but steady trickle of repair and remodel work that has been going on as often as we can get to it.
So these thieves stole not only from me, but from those I serve, those I help.
I would rather deal with a liar. Liars are often more honest.
I actually prefer the company of murderers to that of thieves. Neither crime is a good one, and when combined they create the worst of the worst.
Yes, btw, I have had the experience.
Not having a car means I can’t see my son. Not having a car means I have to go to three times as much effort to do half as much work. Not having a car means time spent waiting instead of time spent doing.
No more. No more, not again, and I will not be stopped. Too much counts on this, too much depends on this.
But even more determined now.
Because they have my enmity, and that is a hard thing to earn.