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Glare, Grouchy

[General] Beetle Breakin

Well, I went to go off and do my errands before heading up to Canada... and found that the Beetle had been broken into in the wee early hours of the morning. Now, the only things taken were $18 in quarters I use for parking meter change, and -- of all things -- the little stuffed doll of the character the car is named after, who usually sits on my dashboard. (And I somehow suspect if I go poking around enough in the bushes, I'll find the little Skuld UFO catcher doll, too.)

But they took all my papers and just scattered them around the interior, opened every little compartment and hurled things around, and stood on the seats and the gearbox and got mud and dirt and stuff everywhere in the interior. My poor beloved Beetle is a total wreck interior-wise right now. Not in the 'will require money to fix' way, but in the 'I'm going to need a cloth and some cleaning fluid after I finish sorting all my license, registration, maintenance records and stuff back into order, and put everything back where it should be' way.

So instead of going to the agent thing I was going to do, or getting my errands done, I'm going to be sitting here filling out a police report over the phone. Lucky me.

As soon as I'm done here, since I already sent Josh a mail that we'll do the thing in March instead, I'm going to clean up the interior of my car (going to the service station and using some of the wipe-y things, and going through the car wash), I'm going to go get an errand done and then I think I'm going to swing by the stables at least briefly. I need to see my beloved horsies; they always calm me down and make me feel better.

And it would be good if I'm not filled with frustrated rage as I drive to Canada. Because right now, I want to break things. Even though very little was taken, I feel really violated and angry.

Comments

My previous car was a battered Volvo (with a leather interior) named Bonaparte, after the Dominion Tank Police tank. On the grounds that it was a tank, with a leather interior. (I never name my own cars; Bonaparte and Skuld were both named by other people.)

It got broken into, too. While in Canada, no less.