Honda Held Hostage: Again
Last Saturday I received a call around 5:30 a.m. from a police department.
The message, which I finally received around 11 a.m. said this: Hi. This is the police department. We just want you to know that your stolen car has been recovered. CLICK.
How nice and non-informative.
It took me a while to track down exactly which police department had contacted me. Then I had to figure out where the car had been towed. Then I had to drive to Desert Hot Springs, a town north of Palm Springs, which is where the car had been recovered.
I signed a release at the police department to get the vehicle back from the towing place. Beyond that, the police gave me little information. They said they have a suspect (and no, they wouldn't tell me who it is -- because you know I asked), and they didn't have any info about the stuff I had stolen along with the car.
This entire time I had very high hopes for the car. A woman on the phone had told me that the car hadn't been vandalized, burnt or stripped. She also said it had been recovered with a CD player -- something my car never had before. Sweet.
When I got to the towing place, Jason looked at the car while I paid the $300 for towing, gate fee, storage, etc. Within seconds Jason was back in the office, giving me a hug.
The car looks nothing like the Honda I used to know and love. It had been spraypainted blue, then black, like a big Civic-sized bruise. It was missing bumpers and license plates. The headlights didn't work. The taillights were gone. The inside of the front doors were ripped apart near the speakers.
The ignition was broken on the steering wheel. No longer was there a place to start the vehicle with a key. But if I wanted to start her up with a screwdriver, conveniently enough, I could do that.
There were soiled blankets in the backseat and a pair of dirty jeans in the trunk. The spare was gone. And that new CD player? Broken.
"You want to drive it away?" the lady at the towing place asked?
HELLS NO. First off, I would get pulled over within seconds -- with no lights and license plates.
Second, the whole thing made me too sad. It was one thing to imagine what had happened to the car. But to actually see what the thieves had done was like a big, cold piece of coal shoved down my throat. They just didn't care about the things that were so important to me.
I told them I'd have my insurance company stop by on Monday.
Then I went home and drowned myself in ice cream and tried to make all the angry, hateful thoughts go away.
The message, which I finally received around 11 a.m. said this: Hi. This is the police department. We just want you to know that your stolen car has been recovered. CLICK.
How nice and non-informative.
It took me a while to track down exactly which police department had contacted me. Then I had to figure out where the car had been towed. Then I had to drive to Desert Hot Springs, a town north of Palm Springs, which is where the car had been recovered.
I signed a release at the police department to get the vehicle back from the towing place. Beyond that, the police gave me little information. They said they have a suspect (and no, they wouldn't tell me who it is -- because you know I asked), and they didn't have any info about the stuff I had stolen along with the car.
This entire time I had very high hopes for the car. A woman on the phone had told me that the car hadn't been vandalized, burnt or stripped. She also said it had been recovered with a CD player -- something my car never had before. Sweet.
When I got to the towing place, Jason looked at the car while I paid the $300 for towing, gate fee, storage, etc. Within seconds Jason was back in the office, giving me a hug.
The car looks nothing like the Honda I used to know and love. It had been spraypainted blue, then black, like a big Civic-sized bruise. It was missing bumpers and license plates. The headlights didn't work. The taillights were gone. The inside of the front doors were ripped apart near the speakers.
The ignition was broken on the steering wheel. No longer was there a place to start the vehicle with a key. But if I wanted to start her up with a screwdriver, conveniently enough, I could do that.
There were soiled blankets in the backseat and a pair of dirty jeans in the trunk. The spare was gone. And that new CD player? Broken.
"You want to drive it away?" the lady at the towing place asked?
HELLS NO. First off, I would get pulled over within seconds -- with no lights and license plates.
Second, the whole thing made me too sad. It was one thing to imagine what had happened to the car. But to actually see what the thieves had done was like a big, cold piece of coal shoved down my throat. They just didn't care about the things that were so important to me.
I told them I'd have my insurance company stop by on Monday.
Then I went home and drowned myself in ice cream and tried to make all the angry, hateful thoughts go away.
This entry was posted on
Saturday, November 19, 2005 at 2:30 AM.
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