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Archive for April, 2011

Honey, The Car Seems to be Missing.

I reached for my robe as I threw my legs over the side of the bed.  It was early, Addison was still sleeping soundly, and I silently cursed Patrick for the noise he was making in our foyer.  As I tied the sash around my waist, I heard him open and close the front door for the umpteenth time, and then pace around the entry way.  His steps would grow quiet as he walked through the house, and then loud again as he returned to the front door.  When I reached him, he was standing at the threshold, the door wide open, cold air rushing into the house.

“What on earth are you doing?” I cried, pulling my robe tighter against the cold.  He stood facing our driveway, hands on his hips.  “I’m looking for the car,” he muttered, a look of befuddlement clouding his face.  Now standing beside him, I warily eyed the empty driveway.  “Uh, did you look in the garage?” I questioned with a certain degree of exasperation lacing my tone.  “I’m going to go look at the bottom of the hill.  Maybe you should call the sheriff,” he replied.

Whoa.  Wait.  What?

Turning away from the door, things slowly began to fall into place for me.  I walked toward the garage, held my breath, and swung the door open.  Empty.

When Patrick returned to the house, on foot, about 10 minutes later, we were able to piece together what may have happened.  Around two o’clock that morning, I awoke to a sound of peeling tires.  I didn’t pay much attention, as we have several teenage neighbors up at the top of our hill.  In my foggy, sleep deprived, new mommy mind, it didn’t warrant me getting out of a warm bed and sacrificing even one second of sleep, when the baby could wake at any moment, insistent on being fed and rocked and cooed to and snuggled and kissed before finally drifting off again to sleep.  Apparently, the sound of squeeling tires didn’t come from the top of the hill, but from our very own driveway instead.

After a thorough search of the house didn’t turn up the keys, we settled on the fact that more than likely, as was his so incredibly annoying habit, Patrick had left the keys in the ignition.  I suppose in his somewhat limited defense, I should point out that many of the neighbors in our small, rural neighborhood routinely left their front doors unlocked and garages wide open, whether home or not.  Many left their keys tucked in the sun visor for easy access.  We live a ways out in the country, and it had always been a peaceful, idyllic, safe and carefree setting.  I don’t think the thought of grand theft auto ever crossed any of our minds.

After placing a call to the Sheriff’s office, it dawned on me that we had been paying through the roof every month to continue our ‘free’ On-Star membership.  Bingo!  One call to them and Voila!  They would tell us exactly where our Escalade was at that very moment!  Watch out, thief!  Your joy ride is about to turn south!  But just one problem — all of our info was in the glove box.   You know, the glove box in the car?

But never-mind that, because we also had been paying through the roof every month for our satellite internet service.  A quick on-line search later, and we were dialing the number that would bring our car home.  Except that the friendly On-Star representative said our vehicle couldn’t be located.  Come again?  But I just saw a commercial, the one that shows this very same scenario, and you call the police with the address of the hideout, and the girl gets her car back, and everything turns out dandy.  What do you mean you can’t locate vehicles if they are in rural areas, or parked inside a building.  As in a garage?  Oh good grief!

Hours later, we received a phone call from the sheriff’s office that our car had been found.  In the next county.  Over the side of a cliff.  In a ravine.  Totaled.  Did we want to retrieve any of the contents?  Well sure!  How about the culprits fingerprints? Let’s retrieve those!   Oh, you don’t do that?  That’s just on TV, too?  So I suppose looking for DNA is out of the question?

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