The 1993 gold Saturn that was stolen Monday, recovered Thursday morning, is back in its spot from which it was abducted, worse for wear in that the tiny geode is forever lost.
That and $311 bucks and a whirlwind trip to fetch it out of hoc.
Oh, did I mention that we gained a few things in the deal? Yeah:
- 1 hobo tent
- 1 empty duffel
- 1 weed pipe
- 1 uneaten taco
- 1 bag of miscellaneous clothing
- garbage and crap and cigarette smoke
It seems that whomever stole the car took it to get from point A to B and picked up his crappy gear along the way. He slipped a slimjim ribbon steel down to unlock it. Then took a filed down jimmy key and wiggled and wiggled the key until he could crank it over. Done. Drive away and sleep in the back and abandon it and his stuff in a wooded area outside of Portland.
The car is sitting back where we expect to sit. But now, the battery has been pulled out and we’ll put it back only to drive it, rarely, or to the auction where we’ll get rid of this beloved albatross. Someday.
What a week.
Anonymole - apocryphal agitators 
A couple of years ago a delivery driver of ours left the box truck running behind the store while he ran in to grab some parts. As he was talking to me we saw it drive by out front of the store. A few hours later it was found a mile from the store in a truck wash stall, abandoned.
The thief got a two minute joyride. We got a new ballcap and sweatshirt. Win/Win?
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Sorry about that, Dave, but I really needed a taco and some smokes and the thing was just sitting there in the driveway. If I had known that the strange looking rock was a geode, I probably wouldn’t have sold it to that leprechaun in exchange for a handful of magic beans that turned out to be lima beans.
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(Made me laugh. People at work had the same take — somewhere there’s a bummed bum missing his shit.)
I almost didn’t want the car back. Bah, thanks for the ill-executed favor. It’s like my life insurance through work: hell, I’m worth 1/2 $mil — dead. Alive, just the opposite.
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Too bad your geode is gone forever.
Watch the cops come to you in a week with a report of stolen tent.
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Hi A. Mole,
Well, you learn something new every day at 3:45 a.m. The thing that got me about this post was the color of the Saturn. I googled the planet Saturn and sure enough the color is “gold” or “yellow” depending upon your telescope. I didn’t know Saturn was considered gold/yellow. Evidently, the color coordinators for the Saturn car knew about that. I wonder what other colors a Saturn vehicle came in. I wonder where the homeless person who stole your car is tonight? Is he/she sleeping beneath the stars? What sort of feelings might they have toward your car? Do you think they miss their “stuff”? Probably they had some sort of attachment, either emotional or functional. I’m talking here about our relationship to things. I’ve been pretty lucky in my life because I moved so much and had to travel light and not accumulate a lot of things. But the things I kept have meaning for me: a piece of incense paper, a tiny blue Buddha, a small woven basket, an Earth globe encased in solid plastic, a sheet of stationary from a Sarajevo hotel, and a little paper mache bird from a village nestled on a border mountain. In what sense do we love a thing? That is what I want to know. Sorry, you got robbed. The last thing I had stolen was a rain jacket. I’m still mad about that from 25 years ago. Ha. Thanks. Duke Hey, I’m writing a history book. The tentative title is A Partial History of Duke Miller from Herodotus to 1982 (The Salad Days, Green in Judgement, Cold in Blood)
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The things we collect. A pocketknife, a belt, the tip of tail-hair from a Labrador. Attachment to things that accumulate memories or represent momentous events in our lives. But do we love the thing or the context?
Yours sound unique and inspirational.
Funny how all the stuff that’s been taken, lost or destroyed seems to have imprinted more deeply than the things that linger around us. I’m certain that the bad events are remembered more completely than the good times.
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Too bad about the geode.
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