To the Asshat That Broke Into My Car

A few weeks ago, I awoke to find that someone had broken into my car. It had been a few years since my car was last broken into, so I suppose I was overdue for some petty theft and the accompanying cycle of emotions that you go through upon finding that a stranger has used your 2004 Corolla for their version of Super Market Sweep: Meth Edition.

If you guessed that I am one of those women who uses their car as additional closet and storage space, you guessed correctly. My vehicle is like a traveling museum of various artifacts reflecting my interests in the performing arts, extreme couponing and Morrissey. I try to keep my hoarding treasure collection to a minimum, but at any moment, I usually have a change of clothes, a few pairs of shoes, some yoga equipment, a bag of things to return to Target and some overdue library books.

Or put another way, if you were on a really weird scavenger hunt and needed a pair of tap shoes, 3 bottles of sunscreen, a pink hula hoop, a Tibetan singing bowl and several loose and unidentifiable vitamins, I would be your girl. Your team would totally win.

The person who broke into my car took some of the obvious treasures- my beloved iPod of 8 years, a portable speaker I use to play music in my yoga classes, some CD’s and a USB charger. Basic beginner’s car theft.

You could have had so much more though, you amateur car thief.

You seriously passed on some excellent opportunities to be the proud, albeit karmically fucked, owner of tons of useless, random shit.

Sitting right there in the glove compartment that you rummaged through was a coupon for free chips and guacamole at Chipotle. (Approximate Retail Value: $3.25) I mean, come on man, that’s FREE chips and guac and you passed that up. There was also a gift certificate for a free car wash at the mediocre car wash place near the mall (Approximate Retail Value: $9.99). Your loss, jackass!

Based on the CD’s that you stole, it appears as though you actually sat in my car and thoughtfully perused my musical offerings, maybe even judging my musical tastes or perhaps wondering if the car was owned by several different people who have fallen into at minimum, one coma in their lifetime. You stole a Johnny Cash CD, or rather, a mix of Johnny Cash songs that I burned onto a blank CD to accompany me on my many road trips through farmland, California during my college years in Santa Cruz. It’s not even a real Johnny Cash album, dude.

You passed on not one, but TWO Rage Against The Machine CD’s in great condition, complete with their original album artwork.  Their self-titled album (released 1992) and Evil Empire (released 1996) are excellent pieces of music that absolutely stand the test of time. I’m gonna give you the benefit of the doubt and assume that you passed on the Rage because you already had those in your collection. Or your hands were just too full of my personal belongings that you couldn’t possibly grab two more albums.

You also opted out of The Smiths double album, deluxe edition. If you had looked closely you would have seen that the double album has some rare tracks on it and a 7 minute version of “This Charming Man”, which btw, WHO DOESN’T NEED THAT IN THEIR LIFE?? If you are not a Moz fan, I will have to kindly ask you to never come near my car again, theft-related purposes or otherwise.

And speaking of bad decisions, did you not see the autographed copy of Veruca Salt’s American Thighs?! Are you even old enough to know who they are??

In 1997, deep in the throes of puberty and middle school, I waited outside a Zia Records store with my friend Ben to meet Veruca Salt and have them sign my CD. The autographed CD is symbolic of a time in musical history when grungy, female-fronted alternative musical acts reigned supreme and gave me hope that I would indeed survive middle school. I was always a melodramatic child (hence the Morrissey fixation). 

Also, can someone please remind me to check eBay to see how much a signed copy of Veruca Salt’s American Thighs currently goes for?

ETA: Someone is currently asking $29.99 for this autographed CD on eBay. Mine is in terrible condition because it’s from almost 20 years ago, so it’s probably worth closer to $10. Your loss, asshat!

You unwrapped my Tibetan singing bowl that I play in my yoga classes and most likely had no idea what it was. A giant cereal bowl? A new place to grind your spices? A place to collect your toenail clippings? You deemed it unfit and tossed it to the ground along with my tap shoes (worth upwards of $200). Some people just have no appreciation for the arts.

The second most peculiar item you stole from my car is a bottle of body wash whose scent can best be described as Tropical Booty Sweat. I had a plastic bag full of skin care samples and body care products on my back seat, the fruits of my decluttering of items that didn’t “spark joy” in my heart. You tore through that bag like a wild animal, grabbing miniature face washes and lotions which were largely free to me. In fact, if you wanted some skin care samples you could have just gone into the store and they would have been free for you too. Or you could have asked me and I would have given them to you. You didn’t have to break into my car and make a huge mess.

The pilfered Tropical Booty Sweat body wash is still not as strange as the fart machine that you stole from my cup holder.

I know what you’re thinking and yes, I am single. If the love for Morrissey and strange, female-fronted, alternative musical acts from the 90’s didn’t do it for you, perhaps this will seal the deal.

The fart machine, or iFart shuffle if you will, was a birthday gift from my little niece and nephew (Approximate Retail Value: $4.85). It made 15 different fart noises (The Squeaker was my favorite) and it made me really happy. Because I am immature.

Moral of the Story/ TLDR: If you encounter a very flatulent troll with luminous skin who smells like Caribbean swamp ass, please kick their ass for me.

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