The Laundry Car Jacking

Monday morning I go out to my car. I had to do laundry, and it’s an arm and a leg to do it in my building, so I was going to take it elsewhere. For free. To keep both limbs. As I approach my car, I can see it was broken into. Fabulous. Needless to say, I did NOT get the laundry done as I had to file a police report against a random, stealthy crackhead, who did nothing but dishevel every nook and cranny inside my car via paperwork and empty energy shot containers. Oh, and steal my archaic cd changer.  Ah, breath that in. Guess line-snorting Joe had some cd’s he really wanted to hear? On MY 5 disc, cd changer. In their grocery buggy… Well, thanks for the inconvenience, random jackass who is now bumping some Miley on their shopping cart. Homeless fucker. 

I will solve this mystery…

I will say this… my neighbor’s car was also broken into. Her trunk pried open, clothes all over the place. The inside of her vehicle also looked like a druggie tornado had torn through it. But, when she was notified, she came down… took a look at everything… locked up her car… and said she’d call the police… later. Wait. Later? Like how later? Later like, as soon as I get back upstairs later? Or later, like I’m likely not going to call at all, later? I, for one, found that odd; but, who am I to judge. Shhh… Secretly, I’m totally judging. Maybe she already knew she didn’t have anything of value inside her vehicle? Oh? Conspiracy Theory; maybe her husband was on a bender and went stark, raving mad… through hers, and my… car. No? Hey it was just a thought. Regardless, how do you NOT feel violated, all the same? I did, and they jacked my damn cd changer that I didn’t even use anymore! A couple days later, the investigator comes to take prints. She does find a print and tells me it could take up to two months. Sigh. I figured as much, it’s LA. If you anticipate that everything will take longer and made to be more, uh complicated, you’ll adjust just fine should you ever decide to live here. The officer DOES take a peek into the windows of my neighbor’s car and she said, “it looks like your car-adjacent neighbor’s car still hasn’t been cleaned up… unless she always keeps her car this messy.” Possible. I didn’t really pay attention to it before, and yes, her car still looked like someone was having a pillow fight in there.

I see your cart old man…

Finally, I can get the laundry done. In my building. At $4 a load. Where the wash stops before it’s done and the people will take your clothes out of the dryer and steal your drying time when you’re not looking. I’m serious. It’s happened. More than once. So, I have to sit there, like I’m in some laundromat on Hollywood Blvd and keep an eye on my socks. Funny thing is, I’m pretty sure it’s the old man who’s playing the handicapped card. Shame on him. With his overflowing cart of clothes. And before you think ill of my assumption of this perp… He’s about as handicapped as a squirrel climbing a tree. Which means, he’s not. Pay attention. He was folding clothes when I came back down to grab my clothes one time and mine weren’t dry. Wet like I stomped through a marsh. No time left on my dryer; yet, still sopping. And out of the corner of my eye, I notice his were all done. With a big grin on his face. Now you think I’m cray? Don’t answer that. The bastard. He totally did it.