dailyeatings

Last Thursday, somebody broke into my car while I was at work. And even though I knew it was bound to happen sooner or later, I was still tremendously annoyed when it finally did. Not angry, not upset, just annoyed. Inconvenienced.

I would have been less peeved, I think, if one of us came out ahead for it. There was nothing even remotely valuable in my car, just a bunch of empty White Castle bags, some dirty clothes from summer league and a 12-pack of paper towels I had been too lazy to carry three flights of stairs up to my apartment. If the thief had made off with an iPod or a digital camera or a laptop, at least he would have something to show for his efforts, and somehow the karmic balance of happiness in the world would have shown a net gain. Instead, he chose to target my car, one whose every quality loudly broadcasts, “this is not the vehicle of a well-to-do person” rather than the Escalade parked two cars away or the Lexus down the street. I lost a day’s worth of productivity and got stuck with a $190 glass replacement bill, and he wasted 10 minutes fruitlessly rummaging through a vehicle with nothing inside except the trappings of a somewhat slovenly single male existence. Sadly, neither of us got anything out of it except annoyance and disappointment, which is probably the shittiest thing about this whole affair.