Up until June of 1990, I'd never had anything really bad happen to the cars that I drove. I'd had them run out of gas, get flat tires, break down, involved in accidents and even been hit and run on. But I always knew where they were at all times. That all changed one Friday night.
After working a box office shift at the Mayan theatre, I walked out to the parking lot. I walked all over the parking lot, but couldn't find my car. I did find some shards of shattered glass on the ground near where I thought I parked it. I started panicking. I knew my car had been stolen.
I went back into the theatre and called 911. (I know that was the wrong number to call, but at the time, if you tried to look up the police number in the phone book, they ONLY listed 911. There was no non-emergency number to call. I really didn't have a choice.) I gave them all the information. They said an officer would come to the theatre to do the report in about an hour. An hour and a half later, no officer had arrived. I called 911 again. They said someone would be there in about 30 minutes.
Finally, someone arrived. It was a female officer. She took my information. Then she asked me if I had been informed that my car had already been recovered. I told her that no one did those two times I called. She said that it was found abandoned and that it was apparent that it had been stolen. Perhaps one of the windows had been smashed (which might account for the shattered glass I saw in the parking lot). She gave me the information for the impound lot.
I felt very violated. I didn't feel safe walking home. I asked Lerd (who had been managing that night) to give me a ride home, even though I lived just a few blocks away. He obliged and I contemplated what I was going to have to do.
One of the problems with the impound lot was that I was not able to go there on the weekend to retrieve my car because I was working. I was going to have to wait until Monday. The bad thing about that was that I was going to have to pay more money for each day it was at the lot. Fortunately, Rid was able to come over that day and give me a ride there (and without having to slash his arm to do it.) We went into the lot and someone on the staff escorted me to my car. Fortunately, none of my windows were broken. (The broken glass turned out to be from another vehicle the thieves had tried to steal before they decided to try mine.) However, the steering column had been broken so they could gain access to the ignition. The impound guy showed me how to start the car by pulling on the piece of metal that was protruding out of the column. But the car wouldn't start. We determined that the car was out of gas. This was probably why they had abandoned it. (I think I only had a couple of gallons in it when it was stolen. Thank goodness for being cheap.)
Rid and I drove down to the nearest gas station and asked if they had a gas can we could borrow. (I'll bet they had that request all the time.) We bought a couple of gallons and went back to the lot. The car started and there didn't seem to be any other problems. I paid the fee and drove the car home.
I knew that it would probably cost at least $500 to fix the steering column. I didn't have that kind of money, so I just wrapped a towel around the column and hoped people wouldn't figure out why it was covered up like that. I had been a AAA member for the last year. My father reminded me that AAA was a tow insurance and I could probably call them to get reimbursed on my fees. I did that and they sent me a check for $35. It didn't cover all the fees, but it was nice to be able to get some money back.
For a few months, I wouldn't drive to the theatre. I always walked. We didn't have any more incidents of attempted car theft at the theatre, so I felt a little more secure in driving the car to work again. But in November, the car was stolen again. The assumption was that the same guys who stole it last time saw it in the lot and figured it was easy pickings, and they were right. And again, the police had recovered the car before I reported it stolen.
My co-worker Cynz and her kids drove me to the impound lot. This time, there was major damage to one of the wheels. It looked like they had driven it across some railroad tracks. However, the tire was still inflated and there was still gas in the tank. I slowly drove home while Cynz followed. I didn't have any major problems on the way home, but I knew I could never drive the car to the theatre again.
Obviously, the guys who stole my car were never caught. However, I'd like to think they got arrested for something else and received a sentence that made them wish they had been been arrested for stealing my car.
I just consider myself lucky to have never had another car stolen since then.
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