Today’s Tirade: Vandals and Vitriol

Car on rocksIt sucks being vandalized, no matter in what shape or form. Victimized is more like it, and it’s only been as of late.

Could I have made an enemy? It seems that way. Perhaps it is the color of my car: a bright, shiny red, which attracts this outright vengeance on the poor automobile.

Tenants have been victims of theft before in my neighborhood, as seen in the photo above to the left. The thief responsible was caught eventually. He must have cut himself and dripped blood on one of the rocks holding up the vehicle.

Using the DNA from that, the police charged the guy with the robberies and locked him up. Don’t ask me how he got caught in the first place. Maybe when he was trying to fence the wheels is when he was arrested.

Last year I found obscenities written in colored chalk, all over my car’s back windows, nasty stuff that I can’t imagine what made them think of doing it, nor would I want to repeat the vitriol here; but fortunately it came off with Windex.

Not until recently did anything else malicious occur until someone had let the air out of both my back tires. They even put the valve-stem caps back on. A friend said maybe the tires were bad. That couldn’t be, not both of them at once with no evidence of punctures anywhere.

The tires are “run-flats,” which mean even without air, they can be driven upon for up to like fifty miles or so. The onboard computer’s low-pressure indicator for the tires’ inflation alerted me to the fact right away, prompting me to check them and finding both rear ones deflated completely.

Again, the incident was not such a disaster, as I was able to drive to the gas station to fill the tires back up.  Paying $1.50 for barely 3 minutes at the air pump irked the hell out of me though, especially when I had to put in another buck and a half to fully inflate both of them together. They held the air and have been fine since.

My friend told me I should have gone to the WaWa filling station. They give their air away for free. That’s mighty nice to know in case for the future.

Next annoyance, while visiting one of my bird-watching haunts, I had parked my car on the dirt lot back by the soccer fields. Returning to leave after a picture-taking jaunt, I noticed my car was covered from bonnet to boot, top to bottom with mud. Not a spot of red was visible.

Having just rained for the past couple of days made the parking lot quite waterlogged. Evidently a four-wheel-drive vehicle spun its huge, knobby tires while the apparent idiot drove circles around my Cooper before hauling off, leaving the vehicle buried in dark sludge. I wish I had seen who had done it.

What a mess; I had to use my ice-scraper to clear the windshield before turning on the wipers and spraying washer fluid, just to be able to see while driving. Straight to the car wash we went.

The looks on the attendants’ faces as I drove up to the entrance was worth the whole ordeal, their appearing as if they were about to clean up the mess deposited on the street, left behind by a parade of elephants, horses, and other circus animals.

The workers weren’t very happy about having to spend excess time with the pressure hose before allowing me to proceed inside. I gave them a generous tip so as not to make any more enemies.

The other day, upon my returning home in the evening, I had to park the car in the only available spot, left on the other side of the parking lot. Now that I think of it, that’s when I have a problem.

Maybe it’s because I took one of their spaces, the people living on the opposite side, causing them to park out on the main road. That’s what I’ve got to do when the lot is filled after my getting home late. No big deal to me, it’s forced exercise that’s badly needed.

Anyway, upon my leaving to go out yesterday, I noticed as I was about to open the passenger door that someone had “keyed” an X into the finish, right above the door handle. My head felt like it was about to explode. My baby had been slashed with a key by some bastard!

After putting my camera gear on the front seat, I went over to the driver’s side and found another “X” was carved into the paint, very obviously done out of contempt. Why had someone done this to me?

Are they jealous because I have a cool, little car that still has a highly polished sheen? Now it has indelible “X’s” on either side, sticking out worse than sore thumbs. Sorry about the cliché; no, I’m not.

Could it have been the guy who had emptied all the junk out of his pick-up truck and placed everything on the ground, which had spilled somewhat into the available parking space I had pulled into, not running anything over, mind you?

The man gave me such a hateful look as I rounded the car into that spot. As the old saying goes, “If looks could kill, yada, yada,yada.”  When I got home last night, his truck was in that spot I had taken previously overnight.

From now on, before parking over the DMZ (demilitarized zone) line in my lot, I’ll put the car out on the street. Hopefully that will end this blatant abuse.

Thanks for allowing me the rant, and for your continued support.

 

 

 

 

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About Mike Slickster

As an early retiree with an honorary doctorate degree from the proverbial "School of Hard Knocks," this upcoming author with a lot of free time on his hands utilizes his expansive repertoire for humorous yet tragic, wildly creative writing that contains years of imaginative fantasy, pure nonsense, classic slapstick, extreme happiness and searing heartbreak; gathered by a wealth of personal experiences throughout his thrilling—sometimes mundane or unusually horrid—free-spirited, rock-'n'-roller-coaster ride around our beloved Planet Earth. Mike Slickster's illustrious quest continues, living now in Act Three of his present incarnation, quite a bit on the cutting edge of profundity and philosophical merriment as seen through his colorful characters, most notably evident in the amusing Thirty Days Across the Big Pond series, all of which can be found at Lulu.com.
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