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.
Not happy.
But even more determined now.
God help those who stole my car. Whatever God it is they look to at night.
Because they have my enmity, and that is a hard thing to earn.
-- Download I loathe Thieves. as PDF --
August 23, 1994, I walked out of my house to discover my beloved 1969 Plymouth GTX missing from my driveway. Not a day has gone by since then that I have not thought of that car. Many days have gone by since that that I have thought of little other than that car. The loss it left in my life is easily comparable to the loss of a child. The police were of no help. The detective assigned to the case said that because the car war insured, they did not have to invest any effort in trying to find it. Technically, it was insured, but for the value it had on the open market, the value it had to a stranger. A stranger who had invested no personal time in it. A stranger who hadn’t taken apart and put back together nearly every inch of it. A stranger who hadn’t experienced it as a primary source of personal education. A stranger who didn’t take pictures of it, and post those pictures on walls. It was not insured for how much it was worth to me, which was effectively priceless. The insurance company was of no use. Insurance companies have private investigors. They try to investigate insurance fraud cases. They should have resources that would be in their best interest to apply to recovering lost assets. No, the insurance company said they just left it to the police to investigate. The police wouldn’t investigate it because the insurance company existed, and the insurance company wouldn’t investigate it because the police existed. In the end, it was all up to me.
Not being one to simply walk away from a challenge, I took that challenge on. I posted fliers in auto businesses all over town. I bought ads in national magazines. I created a web site. I mailed out over 6000 fliers to automotive events and clubs all over the country. I eventually got a lead. I found someone who saw the car on a car trailer in Globe about 5 days after it was stolen. It was being towed by an early 70′s white Chevy truck. That lead to more potential leads. I flew to other cities chasing down leads, as far away as Minneapolis. I learned a tremendous amount about the police, criminals, and witnesses in the process. I learned how incredibly unreliable eye witnesses are. I learned how the police are only motivated by obtaining easy arrests and prosecution, and won’t exert effort on cases demanding their time and resources, and have zero interest in returning property and repairing the crime. I learned that criminals can operate with near impunity, provided that they don’t get caught red-handed.
I invested far more money in trying to find the car than I spent in buying it. I spent about five solid years of my life, investing much of my time, to spreading the word, tracking down leads, and exploring theories. I never truly gave up the search so much as the search just petered out. I still watch sources like ebay for every ’69 GTX that goes up for sale to see if it is mine. To this day, whenever I have fantasies about winning the lottery as so many do, my fantasy is to offer a massive reward and renewing the search to get that car back. I fantasize about winning Survivor, and using the air time and prize money to offer $100K for the return of my car. My mind drifts often to where that car is now. The tragedy to me is that it is probably going to weeds and rusting out behind some barn someplace, or all my hard work was cut up for parts. Some losses you just never get over.
I empathize with your situation.
That sucks!
Perhaps the cops will be able to recover it.