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The guy who lives upstairs from me had his truck stolen last night. The third car theft from this complex in as many weeks. They had to be scoping him out because while the truck's not much to look at, he off-roads with it and has put a lot of money into customizing it, so they knew what they were taking and why. As somebody who's own vehicle was vandalized a year ago at this exact same time, I empathize very deeply.
Obviously, it would appear that the thieves have somebody inside the complex helping them, some place from which they can observe their marks. The sad thing is, it's perfect cover for a car thief because EVERY SINGLE PERSON in here seems to fit some derogatory ethnic car thief stereotype! You've got the white undershirt-wearin' huddle of macho Mexicans who crank up the mariachi music while working on their tricked-out ghetto sleds. And you've got the heavily-tattooed shaven-headed Vin Diesel-wannabe white dudes who crank top 40 R&B while working on their tricked-out ghetto sleds. (Lucky Pierre!) The people here who don't seem like car thieves just seem shady in general. My apartment complex is an inverse, dark version of what America was meant to be: a place where people can seem equally shady, untrustworthy and criminalistic regardless of creed, color or ethnicity. It's like I'm in "Gangs of FORNICATING New York" only there's no woman looks NEAR as good as Cameron Diaz and with ghetto sleds!
The guy who lives above me is a good guy. I exclude him from the above remarks. He and his girlfriend have always been nice to me. He did not deserve this and it makes me very, very angry. Three car thefts in as many weeks, the vandalism of my own vehicle, even Mexican Mama next door got her car boosted a few months back. Maybe not getting my Toyota Echo is happening for a reason. The reason being it wouldn't stay here if I did buy it.
I feel like going from apartment to apartment, kicking people's doors down and dragging them out into daylight with the rubber tube tourniquet still tighed around their arms, shaking them and finding out what they do and don't know about a car theft ring and possible chop shop. I know I'd get my ass kicked before I could say "2 Fast 2 Furious" but is it wrong of me to feel this way? Car thieves make me angry, and I freely admit it's probably got to do with the fact they came after me. Now I know why they hanged horse thieves in the old west.
Thank Jesu we've at least got Lesley's house to park my dad's shiny, red, candy-like, chrome-accented pickemup truck at during the day. I've got a feeling her services might be needed on a more permanent basis. Her birthday is this month. I owe her a present. A BIG present.
Obviously, it would appear that the thieves have somebody inside the complex helping them, some place from which they can observe their marks. The sad thing is, it's perfect cover for a car thief because EVERY SINGLE PERSON in here seems to fit some derogatory ethnic car thief stereotype! You've got the white undershirt-wearin' huddle of macho Mexicans who crank up the mariachi music while working on their tricked-out ghetto sleds. And you've got the heavily-tattooed shaven-headed Vin Diesel-wannabe white dudes who crank top 40 R&B while working on their tricked-out ghetto sleds. (Lucky Pierre!) The people here who don't seem like car thieves just seem shady in general. My apartment complex is an inverse, dark version of what America was meant to be: a place where people can seem equally shady, untrustworthy and criminalistic regardless of creed, color or ethnicity. It's like I'm in "Gangs of FORNICATING New York" only there's no woman looks NEAR as good as Cameron Diaz and with ghetto sleds!
The guy who lives above me is a good guy. I exclude him from the above remarks. He and his girlfriend have always been nice to me. He did not deserve this and it makes me very, very angry. Three car thefts in as many weeks, the vandalism of my own vehicle, even Mexican Mama next door got her car boosted a few months back. Maybe not getting my Toyota Echo is happening for a reason. The reason being it wouldn't stay here if I did buy it.
I feel like going from apartment to apartment, kicking people's doors down and dragging them out into daylight with the rubber tube tourniquet still tighed around their arms, shaking them and finding out what they do and don't know about a car theft ring and possible chop shop. I know I'd get my ass kicked before I could say "2 Fast 2 Furious" but is it wrong of me to feel this way? Car thieves make me angry, and I freely admit it's probably got to do with the fact they came after me. Now I know why they hanged horse thieves in the old west.
Thank Jesu we've at least got Lesley's house to park my dad's shiny, red, candy-like, chrome-accented pickemup truck at during the day. I've got a feeling her services might be needed on a more permanent basis. Her birthday is this month. I owe her a present. A BIG present.
