On Being a Victim of Vehicular Profiling

Living in suburbia, it is always frightening when you see crime encroach upon your doorstep. I remember the good ol’ days with the only crime being the occasional pot smoker sneaking into the woods across the street or an underage kid puffing on a cigarette. Well, except there was that creepy “Aqualung” looking guy who hung out at the park down the street, but that doesn’t really have anything to do with the account I am relaying so I don’t even know why I brought it up. In fact, now I am a little disturbed by the whole thing. So, back to the subject at hand.


I got ready for class and all that stuff, including my weekly floss and my bi-weekly shower, then proceeded out to my truck to carry my squeaky clean butt to class so I could take my eagerly awaited quiz. Now, it has been freezing cold recently, you know the kind of cold where the moisture of your breath almost freezes inside your mouth and it bitterly stings all your cold sores? Yes, you know. Well, due to these frigid temperatures, my truck takes a couple hard steady pulls on the door handle to get the vehicular hatchway to open. This was what I was expecting, but not what I got. The door opened quite easily, much to my amazement (I lead a boring life) and I was further shocked to discover my glove box had been pulled open and it’s contents were strewn about all over the cab of my humble conveyance.

Me, being as bright as I am, immediately tried to figure out just what the hell I had been looking for the previous night, which apparently had warranted me to flip into conniptions and fling console and glove box contents all over my truck. I was positive I had brought my meth inside the previous night, so I was at a loss to explain it. Then it hit me, my driver side door was ajar slightly. Great, my truck had just been broken into.

Now you may ask yourself, “Brandon?” To which I would reply, “Yes?” To which you would say, “Why were you entering through the passenger side door rather than the driver’s side?” To which I would pile many exhortations upon you for asking such an insightful question and reply, “I am glad you inquired friend and the reason is this: My truck had been previously broken into before and they damaged the lock to such a degree that it is now impossible to unlock my truck from the driver’s side.” To this you would offer your condolences, buy me a drink and say, “Oh, that is really a shame. It must really be embarrassing when you have to open the door for all your guy friends.” To which I would say, “Indeed.” To this you would then ask if I would like your sister’s phone number, to which I would apply in the affirmative and we would go our separate ways.

Luckily, I learned my lesson the first time and always make sure to empty out my truck of valuables and narcotics before I even go into my abode at night. So, although they got away with some cash, a couple rocks and a massive collection of “Savage Garden” cd’s the first time, all they found this time was my toenail fungus ointment, 27 empty bottles of “5-Hour Energy,” and a copy of Tolstoy’s “Anna Karenina.” They didn’t take any of it, but this very fact alone gives me some clues to their identity. I am currently on the lookout for tired, illiterate teenagers, or adults, male or female, with legs and feet, with healthy looking toenails. Following is my message to them, that though they got something for their efforts the first time, this time, they get NOTHING! NOTHING!