This morning was like any other.  Larry and I left the house at about 6:15 to go to work.  It was lighter out than usual.  Light enough that it was easy to see when we got to the spot where the car had been parked, it wasn’t there. 

Larry: Um. I think my car was stolen. 

Me.  Huh….

We are the proud owners of a scraped up dented white 1999 Plymouth Breeze with no air conditioning, no radio and a pathetic lack of hubcaps.  Also, I rear ended someone last year, so the hood can only be opened by a professional.  Needless to say, when we wiped the tears of laughter from our eyes, we hopped in a cab and called the insurance company.  They were so understanding and sweet and helpful that I felt guilty about all my giggling. 

It did occur to us when we got out of the cab at Larry’s place of employment that this wasn’t really funny, and a police report should be filed.  I volunteered for the job. 

As I entered the station, I realized that, although I have seen what Hollywood tells me is the inside of the police station 100s of times in the movies; in real life, I hadn’t been inside one since I was a child.  I vaguely remember being fingerprinted during a class trip.  I am assuming this was either to show pre-schoolers a good time, or to have my fingerprints on file in case I was kidnapped.  It was the 80s and kidnapping was the new cool thing to fear. 

Anyway, I began to file a report for the car. 

Detective in the Background [He was in street clothes and television has taught me that this is a detective]:  Hey, there’s only one of these red velvet donuts left.  I’m taking it. 

Officer Assisting Me: ….Well now you know that there is some validity to the stereotype…

Me: Ha!  Man, I just realized I’m starving.

Officer: Kevin, are there any more back there?  Bring them up.

So the cops gave me a donut.  I chose a cream filled long john because it reminds me of early morning fishing trips with Dad.  And now it also reminds me of the police station.  I once did shots on St. Patrick’s Day with off duty cops who were still in their uniforms.  This was better.     

By this time, a few cops were meandering around the counter.

Officer: Did you have any valuables in the car?

Me [After consulting with the devil and angel on my shoulders]: Nope.  Nothing that I can think of.

Officer: A newer radio?  Anything like that?

Me: There’s actually a gaping hole where the radio used to be.  It was stolen years ago and never replaced.

There was total silence.  And then, simultaneously, 3 uniforms, one Detective as TV Has Taught Me, and I start laughing.  Hard.  Like, pounding our fists laughing.  I think a full minute passed before it stopped. 

Before we were finished, the officer got a call reporting a missing person.  She placed them on hold to finish up with me.

The officer was honest with me that it wasn’t terribly likely they’d find the car.  I bit back all the Big Lebowski jokes and wanted to make, took the report and left. 

I can’t believe how lucky I am.  I was the woman in the cop shop eating a long john and laughing about the idiot who stole our poor old beaten up car.  I wasn’t the one on the phone.  The officer told me they probably wouldn’t find my car.  They didn’t have to tell me they couldn’t find my husband.  My sister.  My parents.  My friend. 

Perspective.  I’ve got it. 

*Doogie Hauser Theme*