Open Letters

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Dear, Asshole Who Rifled through my Car Last Night,

Thank you.  Thank you, well first, for not taking anything.  Yes, you found nothing of value in the car.  I could, perhaps should, stand upon my soapbox here and upbraid you for not even taking a moment to look through the mound of CDRs, the absolute wealth of music, days and days of it if played end to end–I could lambast you for the ignorant musical taste that lead you to so quickly pass up a horde of treasures.  You had your pick.  No one (apparently) was watching.  I could not even have found myself angry if a thief had broken into my car only to purloin the most choice album in the deck.  The CD might as well be a loaf of bread, in my mind.

But no, you took nothing.  Because, of course as a city boy, I keep nothing of value in an unattended car.  But I shouldn’t really be thanking you for not taking what was not yours.  And I’m not even going to thank you for putting most of my stuff back after you’d pawed through it.

My thank you is a little more nuanced than that.

You see, asshole thief man, sometimes I feel paranoid.  Well, not literally paranoid, but I feel like I’m acting paranoid.  I check the lock on that car door often.  Very often.  More often than I do most things, when you consider it.  If I come and go from the car two to three times a day, that’s four to six times (or more) that I’ve double checked the lock.  That’s more than I floss or brush my teeth.  I have one of the little clickers, like most people, and I “click click” “click click” until I am beyond certain that the car is secure.

But last night, oh last night.  I don’t have to tell you, my asshole thief man friend.  You know.  I even remember, as I was walking in, my arms draped with empty boxes, I remember asking myself, “did I lock the door?”  The keys were in my pocket, I’d have to put everything down again to check it.

“No, of course you locked the door. ” I said to myself, “You always lock the door.”

As you discovered, this was a mistake.

But as mad as I am at you–and I am fucking mad at you–I can only take it so far.  Because you, by finding my humble unlocked car the one time I left it unlocked, you have reminded me that I am not paranoid after all.  I am not some crazy person, fearful of the unruly hordes waiting in the shadows for me to turn my back, if only momentarily.

No, I am merely engaging in what my computer nerd friends would call “best practices.”

So thank you for that, Mr Asshole Thief Man Who Rifled through my Car Last Night.  I needed the reminder.


PS: I hope you got ran over by a car as you were fleeing my neighborhood after your spree.

PPS: And not just run over, but run over by a half asleep truck driver who didn’t hear the bump, and who dragged you for two miles before you flopped off of the fender into some ditch.

PPPS: And not just any ditch, but a rat and were-dog infested ditch, where you were slowly eaten alive by vile rats and were-dogs, which as you know, resemble dogs but eat their prey like a fly does, by vomiting corrosive bile upon your face and licking it up.

PPPPS: But as you know vile rats and were-dogs will not consume everything, so you were of course still alive come daybreak.  With just enough left in you to see the crows and gizzard necked vultures swoop down to pluck out your beady eyes.

PPPPPS: And also your testicles.

PPPPPPS: And then I hope you got run over again.

PPPPPPPS:  Asshole.

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