Somebody threw an egg at my car. And that’s some level-three bullshit, right there. What the crap, man? It apparently happened overnight, Saturday into Sunday, while the car was parked in our driveway.
I assume it was local hooligans, out marauding and working off pent-up ball energy, or whatever. But what if it wasn’t? What if I was… targeted? Oh, this is the kind of thing that can mess with your head, if you let it.
I immediately started concocting conspiracy theories, and a list of people who might have a grievance with your corpulent correspondent.
Just a few days ago I kinda sorta got into it with a guy who was doing some work for us in the yard. But it wasn’t that bad, just a few seconds of conflict, quickly resolved. Surely, he didn’t come back and egg my car, did he? When I mentioned this to Toney she told me I’m insane. “It was kids,” she assured me.
She’s probably right, but I did some research on that guy, and he doesn’t have the best reputation. On the Facebook page of his so-called landscaping business, people left several comments about his combativeness and assholish tendencies. But throwing an egg at my car? Probably not. He seemed like the kind of guy who wouldn’t hesitate to take a swing at somebody, not the type to do stuff on the sly. He seemed more hands-on, and can-do.
Of course, Poppa Half-Shirt hates my guts. But we’ve co-existed for almost sixteen years now, and he’s never done anything like that before. And I’m sure there are people at my job who wouldn’t mind vandalizing my car, but would they travel 40 miles to do it? I don’t see that happening. I make people 20 miles-mad, not 40.
So, I’m sure Toney’s right. It was just young shitheads, living up to their shithead destinies. Grrr… It was funny when I was on the other side of that equation, but not so amusing on this side of it. Oh well.
Do you guys have any victims o’ vandalism stories to tell? Like I say, I could write a book about all the crazy-ass destruction my friends and I perpetrated years ago. But I don’t have much on the receiving end, thankfully.
When I lived in a terrible neighborhood in Atlanta my car was repeatedly violated, like an altar boy. And one time somebody stole a basket of my just-washed laundry off the backseat of my Hyundai Excel. Yeah, that one took the cake, right there. Who steals laundry? Every time I passed some junkie derelict on the street there, for the next year, I wondered if he was wearing my saggy Hanes briefs underneath his bum uniform. Incredible!
But, overall, I’d say I’ve gotten off pretty easy in that regard. What about you? Do you have any stories to tell? Use the comments section to get it off your chest.
And I’ll see you guys again soon. I’m going to try to up the number of weekly updates here. We’ll see how it goes.
Have a great day, my friends!