Dude, where’s my car?
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Clutching my computer bag, purse and coffee mug I stood frozen in my tracks. The sun had yet to rise so perhaps my eyes were playing tricks on me in the dark. After a couple of blinks... Nope. My eyes were working right. My car, which I’d started 15 minutes earlier to warm up, was definitely gone. And what’s that in the corner of my driveway? A shiny, new bike.
Those absurd words – the title of the Ashton Kutcher comedy film – spring to mind. “Dude, where’s my car?”
Stunned, and finally registering what had happened, I walked back inside to call the authorities. My car had been stolen. And it had been stolen by someone who had been riding a shiny, new bike. Probably also stolen.
The police were quick to respond. Within 15 minutes I’d placed the 911 call, given the officer who stopped by the story and was in my company truck taking my 5-year-old to school. (Luckily I’d purchased a back-up car seat for him a couple days prior.)
I ran the full gamut of emotions that day. The usual, I’m sure. Shock. Fear. Anger. But there was something else that surprised me: gratitude. I was thankful that I hadn’t already brought some of my things to the car – which I normally do. It’s not uncommon for me to make more than one trip to the car as I prepare to leave the house for the day. And I was thankful that I’d recently cleaned out my car. Aside from my kids’ car seats, there wasn’t much else inside.
As I shared the news of our stolen car on Facebook and on our website in hopes that folks would help us keep a lookout, I was thankful again for friends who “shared” my status. And thankful for the many, many offers of help.
As the day wore on, I realized that I lost more than just my car. I’d also lost some of my trust in others. Many friends and neighbors throughout the day said they also leave their vehicles, and some even their homes, unlocked. Several said they’d no longer be doing so. Increased crime in our small towns and the ensuing lack of trust is what really feels lost.
But alas, no place is perfect. Not even our little valley. And while it stinks that my car is gone, I have to admit that I laughed a few times that day too. The absurdity of the situation as I stood there sleepy eyed, probably longer than I should have, looking at the vacant space in my driveway where my car had been is still enough to make me giggle. The thought that perhaps the perpetrator thought their new bike for my old car was a fair trade was also good for a laugh.
Joking aside, I’d recommend avoiding the ridiculous, “Dude, where’s my car?” moment. Be sure to lock your vehicles if you let them warm up in the morning.
