Hey, Someone Broke into My Car!


 Something exciting happened! I left my car parked down on 6th and Salem over the weekend—due mainly to laziness and my general attitude of not caring about it—and some enterprising young thing decided to pry open the sunroof and rummage about. 

I had this moment after walking up to the car and noticing the yawning hole at the top (something I never see, because I think sunroofs are stupid and I never open mine), registering first that it was unusual, then slowly taking in what it meant. I peered in the window with a bit of apprehension—not sure if I was going to discover a very small knife-wielding hobo curled up in the very small back seat, or maybe a family of particularly dexterous raccoons—but found only a slightly messier version of the usual mess.

I brushed the newly fallen pine needles off my seat, and noted that it had been scooted back several inches as I climbed in. Yup, someone had definitely been sitting in my spot. Weird.

As you may have surmised from the title, the moral of this story is that my things are garbage and they didn’t want any of it: not my collection of coffee cups and newspapers, not my pink trench coat or my random gloves and sweaters, not the bag of yard-sale miscellany I was thinking of donating to Goodwill, or my barely used yoga mat that I keep there just in case (of the apocalypse)—not even the pile of filthy pennies in the center console which have actual cash value. They didn’t even take something just for the sake of making the break-in worth their time; they just got in there, judged me, and left.

What I should’ve felt was violated, and then relieved to still have all my belongings, but I really just felt embarrassed that someone had seen how nasty my car was.

I’ve been doing a weird thing over the past year: leaving various items in my car and then never removing them. Maybe it was some subconscious rebellion against my OCD, or some symbolic ode to the element of chaos that rules the universe. I’d been avoiding giving people rides so nobody would see the state of it, but now I was busted. I pictured the erstwhile thief putting on latex gloves before lifting each item, wrinkling their nose, and then casting the thing aside while muttering, “Garbage, all of it.” Maybe they felt sorry for me. Maybe they left the sunroof open to air things out.

Anyway, I can take a hint. I finally cleared out my car and did all the crazy-person detailing I inevitably do when I decide to clean something. It’s amazing how different it feels, like it’s an extension of the other parts of my life instead of this secret-shame-mobile. So if you’re reading this, car-rummager, please know that it’s pristine now and totally worth hanging out in. Also, I found a bunch of silver change under the seat, so joke’s on you.

Managing Editor for Synthesis Weekly. Amy likes to make clothes, plant flowers, and chase butterflies.