cops: upstate ny
Nov. 7th, 2003 12:36 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
fearlesstempWednesday morning I got in my car and noticed that there was crap all over the floor of the front seat. Correction: I noticed that there was different crap than usual on the floor on my front seat. But since I'm a huge slob, I didn't think much of it (also I was running late), so I just took off the emergency brake and started rolling down the driveway into the street.
"Hmm," I thought to myself while I turned around. "My glove compartment's open. That's odd. I know I didn't go in there last night."
I shut it and shifted into first.
"Hm," I thought a few moments later. "I could have sworn that Diet Pepsi Twist can was in the cupholder last night. But maybe I finished it and put it on the floor ,where all of my empty cans go to die – HOLY CRAP THAT'S NOT EMPTY."
I swerved to a stop at the stop sign at the end of my street and retrieved the can and stared mournfully at the blobs of Diet Pepsi seeping into the carpet. I cared for approximately 2.3 seconds and then shifted into first again and got on the road.
"Hm," I thought as I blew down the main road by my neighborhood. "What is that whistling noise? That's odd. What could it – my door isn't shut! My passenger door isn't shut all the way! No one has used that passenger door in days! SOMEONE BROKE INTO MY CAR!"
!!!
!!
!!!!
At this point I was blowing down the main road at like 45 mph and couldn't easily pull over or anything, so I just did a quick assessment and didn't see anything missing (there was literally nothing of value in my car, unless you value empty lip gloss containers and half-full cans of Diet Pepsi). But it FREAKED ME OUT, man! I called the 'rents and told them so they could check their cars, and then proceeded to go about my day, la de dah.
Flash forward to last night: My mother and I stayed up late gossiping about various people we knew until about 1AM, at which point we retired to our respective bedrooms and I settled in to watch my tape of The OC. And then I heard the garage door open.
!!
!!!
!!!!
At first I thought: Well, maybe my mother went downstairs to get something without telling me. And so I opened my bedroom door and peered out, only to see my mother doing the very same thing. We gave each other identical looks of Oh My God If It Wasn't You, WHO WAS IT?!?! horror and went in to wake up my father.
"Dad!" I stage whispered, grabbing his shoulder. "There's someone in the garage! Someone's trying to get in the house!"
"Grusmgph," he said, and rolled over.
"Jimmy!" my mother said, in the voice she usually reserves for evenings when they're going out to a nice restaurant and he insists on wearing a bolero instead of an actual tie. "They must have used your garage door opener! Did you not lock your car doors? What is wrong with you? GET UP!"
"Snurmph," he said.
I shook him again and looked over at my mother, only to discover that she'd left the room and headed for the stairs to go face the scary burglars! I ran down after her and watched in horror as she walked up to the door to the garage, opened it, turned on the light, and WALKED OUT THERE.
A braver daughter would have gone out there with her. A smarter daughter would have held her back. This daughter just stood there gaping open-mouthed in the kitchen, hissing, "Ma! MA! Be careful!" through the centimeter-thick crack in the door.
Finally my father thudded down the stairs and came up behind me in the kitchen, pushed me aside and went into the garage too. I started having visions of scary burglars killing both of my parents while I stood ten feet away doing nothing at all when my father came back, pushing my mother in front of him. He deposited her next to me and went back outside to face the scary burglars. At this point my mother joined me in hissing "Hey! Be careful!" through the crack in the door while watching him go outside to his car and open the (clearly unlocked) door.
"Idiot," my mother said.
My father locked his car doors and walked into the garage, started moving things aside so he could pull his car in. "Call the state police," he said.
And so we did. My mother called the police and I started obsessing over the possibility that the scary burglars were in the house, lurking somewhere. I was peeking behind the armchair in the living room when my mother got off the phone.
"They're sending someone over," she said.
We spent the next five minutes standing in the front hall peering out of different windows into the street, looking for burglars or troopers, until we heard the unmistakable sound of my father clomping upstairs.
"Where are you going?" my mother asked.
"To bed," my father said.
"A state trooper is coming!" I said. "You can't go to bed!"
My father didn't answer, which pretty much was his way of saying, "Why the hell not?"
I had decided to self-medicate with my favorite drug of choice in a time of crisis (SoapNet) when the doorbell rang. My mother answered and I came around the corner to the front hall and saw, to my horror, that oh yeah! It was the Cute Young Trooper Guy who gave me a ticket for my illegal left turn two weeks ago. And I was standing there in all of my electric blue Hanes Her Way T-Shirt and ill-fitting sweatpants glory, hair going every which way. Awful! Awful on all fronts!
And then I was all: What is the social protocol in this situation? Do I interrupt his questioning of my mother to say, "Hey! Remember me? Unsafe driver a few weeks ago? You showed me no mercy? Court date December 10? How you doin'?"
And so, of course, I just stood there smiling awkwardly for the duration, saying nothing, so that I could spend the rest of the evening coming up with clever/funny/interesting things I could have said instead of just standing there like a deaf mute.
Anyway, turns out the scary burglars had hit 20 houses in our neighborhood the night before and so the troopers patrolled our neighborhood last night, and tonight I'm all on edge waiting to hear someone bust through the front door or open the garage door again. I've got Molly here on the bed beside me to protect me, though. All seven pounds of her. But it's a FEISTY seven pounds, and isn't that all that matters?
"Hmm," I thought to myself while I turned around. "My glove compartment's open. That's odd. I know I didn't go in there last night."
I shut it and shifted into first.
"Hm," I thought a few moments later. "I could have sworn that Diet Pepsi Twist can was in the cupholder last night. But maybe I finished it and put it on the floor ,where all of my empty cans go to die – HOLY CRAP THAT'S NOT EMPTY."
I swerved to a stop at the stop sign at the end of my street and retrieved the can and stared mournfully at the blobs of Diet Pepsi seeping into the carpet. I cared for approximately 2.3 seconds and then shifted into first again and got on the road.
"Hm," I thought as I blew down the main road by my neighborhood. "What is that whistling noise? That's odd. What could it – my door isn't shut! My passenger door isn't shut all the way! No one has used that passenger door in days! SOMEONE BROKE INTO MY CAR!"
!!!
!!
!!!!
At this point I was blowing down the main road at like 45 mph and couldn't easily pull over or anything, so I just did a quick assessment and didn't see anything missing (there was literally nothing of value in my car, unless you value empty lip gloss containers and half-full cans of Diet Pepsi). But it FREAKED ME OUT, man! I called the 'rents and told them so they could check their cars, and then proceeded to go about my day, la de dah.
Flash forward to last night: My mother and I stayed up late gossiping about various people we knew until about 1AM, at which point we retired to our respective bedrooms and I settled in to watch my tape of The OC. And then I heard the garage door open.
!!
!!!
!!!!
At first I thought: Well, maybe my mother went downstairs to get something without telling me. And so I opened my bedroom door and peered out, only to see my mother doing the very same thing. We gave each other identical looks of Oh My God If It Wasn't You, WHO WAS IT?!?! horror and went in to wake up my father.
"Dad!" I stage whispered, grabbing his shoulder. "There's someone in the garage! Someone's trying to get in the house!"
"Grusmgph," he said, and rolled over.
"Jimmy!" my mother said, in the voice she usually reserves for evenings when they're going out to a nice restaurant and he insists on wearing a bolero instead of an actual tie. "They must have used your garage door opener! Did you not lock your car doors? What is wrong with you? GET UP!"
"Snurmph," he said.
I shook him again and looked over at my mother, only to discover that she'd left the room and headed for the stairs to go face the scary burglars! I ran down after her and watched in horror as she walked up to the door to the garage, opened it, turned on the light, and WALKED OUT THERE.
A braver daughter would have gone out there with her. A smarter daughter would have held her back. This daughter just stood there gaping open-mouthed in the kitchen, hissing, "Ma! MA! Be careful!" through the centimeter-thick crack in the door.
Finally my father thudded down the stairs and came up behind me in the kitchen, pushed me aside and went into the garage too. I started having visions of scary burglars killing both of my parents while I stood ten feet away doing nothing at all when my father came back, pushing my mother in front of him. He deposited her next to me and went back outside to face the scary burglars. At this point my mother joined me in hissing "Hey! Be careful!" through the crack in the door while watching him go outside to his car and open the (clearly unlocked) door.
"Idiot," my mother said.
My father locked his car doors and walked into the garage, started moving things aside so he could pull his car in. "Call the state police," he said.
And so we did. My mother called the police and I started obsessing over the possibility that the scary burglars were in the house, lurking somewhere. I was peeking behind the armchair in the living room when my mother got off the phone.
"They're sending someone over," she said.
We spent the next five minutes standing in the front hall peering out of different windows into the street, looking for burglars or troopers, until we heard the unmistakable sound of my father clomping upstairs.
"Where are you going?" my mother asked.
"To bed," my father said.
"A state trooper is coming!" I said. "You can't go to bed!"
My father didn't answer, which pretty much was his way of saying, "Why the hell not?"
I had decided to self-medicate with my favorite drug of choice in a time of crisis (SoapNet) when the doorbell rang. My mother answered and I came around the corner to the front hall and saw, to my horror, that oh yeah! It was the Cute Young Trooper Guy who gave me a ticket for my illegal left turn two weeks ago. And I was standing there in all of my electric blue Hanes Her Way T-Shirt and ill-fitting sweatpants glory, hair going every which way. Awful! Awful on all fronts!
And then I was all: What is the social protocol in this situation? Do I interrupt his questioning of my mother to say, "Hey! Remember me? Unsafe driver a few weeks ago? You showed me no mercy? Court date December 10? How you doin'?"
And so, of course, I just stood there smiling awkwardly for the duration, saying nothing, so that I could spend the rest of the evening coming up with clever/funny/interesting things I could have said instead of just standing there like a deaf mute.
Anyway, turns out the scary burglars had hit 20 houses in our neighborhood the night before and so the troopers patrolled our neighborhood last night, and tonight I'm all on edge waiting to hear someone bust through the front door or open the garage door again. I've got Molly here on the bed beside me to protect me, though. All seven pounds of her. But it's a FEISTY seven pounds, and isn't that all that matters?
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no subject
Date: 2003-11-06 10:44 pm (UTC)Ha! Seriously. Laughed out loud.
But why would someone break into your car and just make a mess? I mean, the same thing happened to me: my car was broken into, and the theif just kind of threw everything around (for some reason, they didn't want any of my 20 Nsync/Britney/Etc. CDs [this was in 2001, so you understand]). Can't you just, you know, rifle through things? Not toss them everywhere?
no subject
Date: 2003-11-13 09:39 pm (UTC)You know, if I had one lesson to teach would-be car thieves today, that would be it. Because seriously! There was *no need* to throw all of my various small Jess Maintenance items to and fro on the car's floor! To say nothing of how they tipped over the half-full can of Diet Pepsi! Though perhaps part of the fault lies with me for having a half-full can of Diet Pepsi in the car. Must ponder.
no subject
Date: 2003-11-06 11:21 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-11-13 09:48 pm (UTC)I know! I still can't believe my mother went barging into the garage hollering "WHO'S THERE??" instead of just contacting the authorities. She justified it later by saying it was her Mama Bear instincts, but still, one would think that my father and I would have some self-preservation skills gained from watching thousands of horror and Lifetime movies (respectively) to know to call the cops first! We're just lucky the potential robbers were more scared than we were.
no subject
Date: 2003-11-07 08:58 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-11-13 09:51 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-11-07 09:02 am (UTC):)
no subject
Date: 2003-11-07 09:21 am (UTC)