I went to the car Tuesday, in the rain, in the chill, and the driver's-seat door was ajar. The window had been left down on Sunday night, I guess, and in the time between someone opened the car & let themselves in. Well, ok, but the idea of someone rifling through our car looking for something of value makes me laugh every time I think of it again.
Imagine someone who steals things out of others' vehicles, for fun or profit, or whatever. This shadowy human comes across a car that, for all practical purposes, is left open. Never mind the car is a 30-year-old rustbucket with peeling seam bindings and welting and shit just everywhere on the inside, no. Oblivious to all that, the thief opens the door to let himself in.
"Why would they leave the door ajar?" Mari wondered.
"Omigosh! Probably because no one would want to close it because someone might see them getting out of our car & die laughing! Wouldn't you be ashamed? And sticky?"
The whole time, telling the story to Mari from the Trader Joe's parking lot, I was just collapsed in heaps of giggles. First of all, if the door had not been ajar, it is unlikely I would have even noticed anyone had ransacked the car. I mean, it may have eventually come up if Mari asked what happened to the quarters in the ashtray, but I don't know when last he put quarters in the ashtray, nor how many; he would have never asked me to account for change spent in parking meters.
There is a joke with our friends, with my girlfriends, about how people who know us (not well), come to our home & are put-off by the tidiness within. The joke, which is funny because it is true, is those people should take a ride in our ride. I don't live in my car, and whenever in my car, I am always otherwise occupied (driving!), so there are never those seismic times which keep our home immaculate (What on earth?! Handprints! Who left their socks?! Dirty!, etc). Our car has always been a disaster within. Always. Please.
We would take the Passat in for detailing & they would every time call, regretful, to inform us they would have to charge extra. We were just like, "Charge what you want, God knows we don't want to clean it; it's disgusting." When we got this car (prob the last time it was clean), I tried to say there would be no eating. And there was less, for a long time, and then the growing. This should be the horror movie about teenagers: The Growing.
All the things which stay crammed into the well underneath the armrest, which were removed & scattered across the passenger seat by our intruder -- well, those things are usually sticky. (I'm laughing right now. Ahahaha!) There were a few smoothie incidents in the winter & who has the time? In the storage area on the passenger side door, there were two weird, opened packages of an upsettingly-wet jerky that was swag from Garçon's last race. All of that was thrown on the floor of the passenger side.
From our glove-box, the CD Walkman Garçon would use occasionally to be an anti-social prick while riding around was gone.
"Ahahaha! The bulky, round thing! That plays one CD at a time! God bless them!" I could not stop giggling.
Mari was only concerned if our jumper cables were still in the trunk, also, the giant box of dishwasher pellets from the Costco we had not bothered bringing in.
"Ahahaha!" This time I could not get control of myself to speak for a minute or two before I gasped out that if I were in our sticky, nasty, microbial car, getting covered in archeological grime just in the cabin area, I would never investigate the part of the car off-limits to passing view.
"I would," Mari told me, a little queasy-sounding. "What if they had some cleaning supplies back there?"
"I would be thinking more along the lines of a dead cat," is what I told him. "I hope he had hand sanitizer! Ahahaha! Haha! Ahahahahaha!"
As it happens, we do have paper towels and a canister of handi-wipes in the trunk. Along with a cubic foot of kindling. All of that stuff was still back there, undisturbed. The jumper cables were inside of the car, underneath the driver's seat, but it seemed like, honestly (ok, stop laughing! hahaha! this is serious!), the job of survey for plunder was left unfinished. But not before the area beneath the passenger seat was excavated.
Fifille sits behind the passenger seat. Strewn along the bench of the backseat were all the things she had let fall to the floor in front of her, and over the winter of driving in a rolling refrigerator had just left to lie -- a dozen apple cores, peanut-butter-smeared plastic knives and spoons, sticky Gladware containers, greasy wads of paper napkins. Doesn't that sound disgusting?! Yes! That is why I would never reach back there with my bare hands and start mining around under there! Ahahaha!
Ok, but seriously. I'm serious. Really. Ahem. (I keep laughing, because it is hilarious to me.) If my Tom Petty tape had been missing, this would be a different story! But there it was! Full Moon Fever forever!
Anyhow, once everything had been removed & rumpled-up, it was easy to survey and get it all into a plastic bag for the trash. So, really, the would-be thief was my car-cleaning advance man. I hope he doesn't get sick. Ahahaha!
Mari is a teeny bit distressed that on Monday my memory was refreshed of the MAC store at Union Station.
Right by the doors by which I need to leave to head to our DC house! What? I KNOW! I did need a new 266 brush, and I absolutely resisted the distractions of the newly-released colors. Resistance! Je désole mais je t'aimais, je t'aime et je t'aimerai xoxoxox