An Un-Deft Theft

Hello. Welcome to the Weekend Gene Pool, in which I entertain you in return for your personal stories. The issue I write about today will soon take its place among the great U.S. Supreme Court decisions, such as Brown v. Board of Education.

I am an urban toughie.  I have been all my life. I grew up in The Bronx  when it was the crime capital of America.  I lived in Miami when it was the crime capital of America.   I lived in Washington D.C. when it was the crime capital of America.  I even visited Merida, Mexico, in the Yucatan, several times, when it was the crime capital of the entire effing world, where bandits would cut your head off with machetes to obtain your vehicle.  

In the last two days, I visited Kansas City, Missouri, the boring white-bread capital of America, and for the first time in my life, I had a car broken into and vandalized beyond immediate repair. Life is just a huge dose of awesome irony.

Rachel and I were there to attend the funeral of a beloved friend.  We arrived at the airport, and rented a late model Kia Forte, and drove to our hotel, parked on the street beside the entrance, went inside, went up to our room, freshened up, walked three blocks to a fabulous deli restaurant, had a grilled cheese sandwich, German potato salad, and a meatball sub, went back outside, walked to our rental car, and discovered it had a rear window bashed in.   The car had been rifled, but, fortunately, we had taken all our luggage and possessions up to the room. There had been nothing to steal.

We actually had been warned. At check-in, the hotel clerk had said that sometimes people break into the cars on the street, and that there is an alternative: a parking lot across the street, but sometimes people break into cars on the lot, too. The clerk herself said she usually parked on the street and took her chances. So we had, too. Anyway, we went back up to the hotel room, and called the police to report the damage, simply to establish a record, because we knew that might be necessary for insurance purposes.

Then we went back down to the car, to drive to a pre-funeral reception. When we got to the street, a street on the boring white-bread capital of the world, outside an excellent hotel, there was a great deal of loud car-alarm honking. The thieves, in ski masks, had returned to the car, and were still there, trying to steal it via methods involving a hammer and screwdriver applied to the steering column. The thieves saw us approaching, and ran into their car, and drove off, while giving me the finger. (I am making none of this up). The steering column was a mess, totally disabled.

There was a brief moment when I could have stepped out into the street and possibly seen their license tags, but I decided not to do that, in case they noticed me doing that, and then tromped on the brake, and gotten out of the car, and possibly shot me in the head (no big loss to the world), but Rachel too. I am not a total idiot, except for not liking Indian food.

So, that was our introduction to Kansas City, the white-bread capital of America.

The funeral for our friend, Karen Ball, was awesome, as funerals go, and was held at Kauffman Stadium, the ballpark of the Kansas City Royals, because she was an avid fan. She was a beautiful, accomplished journalist and loving mother to four kids, and her photo was displayed on the Jumbotron in center field, and no, neither you nor we will ever see any funeral as awesome. Trust me.

At the time of the break-in, coincidentally, our hotel was hosting a party for the Royals, and the ballroom was filled with big young men, and elegant spouses, and the streets were filled with big black limos, none of which appeared to have been broken into. It was only afterwards that we learned that Kia cars are famous for being broken into because they are notorious for being idiotically mechanically susceptible to attempts to steal them.

We have yet to hear from the car-rental company, but they have Rachel’s credit card info and will feel free to charge us whatever they want. This will work to your benefit, if not ours, because I promise to fight them, publicly, right here in the Gene Pool and right up to the U.S. Supreme Court, if necessary, because they should have no business renting Kias. Amy Coney Barrett will rule against us, probably as the deciding vote. But being a shithead is her mission in life.

Today’s challenge is to tell me about your stories concerning run-ins with crime, large or small. Anything that is funny or ironic. I am counting on you, in the memory of my friend. Send your stuff to the ordinary ugly orange button.

Also please answer this poll, which I use to gauge reader participation.

Please only send me money if you liked it. I am not a thief.