For the past 8 months I've had the opportunity to live in this gloriously, inglorious city. Don't get me wrong, the city has it's attractions. Of course, New Haven houses the illustrious Yale University, sprinkling the city with many privileged, interesting (well, some of them) and intelligent people. I've met some incredible people who live in this city. I've found restaurants that are gems and little breakfast nooks that words will never do justice.
But this story is not about them. It's about the other side of New Haven, Connecticut. I'm not an overly privileged child. I have no trust fund or wealthy grandparent. I've worked since I was 15 and I take pride in working. My parents are hardworking people who would rather do something themselves than pay someone to do it for them. They've instilled this quality in their children. But sometimes, you have to make sacrifices. This year I had to swallow my pride and let them take care of me. There is NOTHING, I repeat NOTHING, that makes me more uncomfortable than asking people for money. I may hate working, but I hate begging for money even more.
 |
| http://30.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m1xvu34xxs1rr6gnqo1_500.gif |
Because my parents were supporting me this year, I learned to do without in some cases. They would never have wanted me to do this, but I'd rather eat everything in my house (I mean everything) than go grocery shopping (and have to ask for money) before I needed to. I also learned to cherish things that I already owned.
One of the especially important pieces in my possession is my 22-year old, white, Honda accord. Her name is Theodora. When people ask why I named her that, I just look at them perplexed and say, "She's just a Theodora". And she is fantastic. She has automatic seat belts, red-velvet cupcake colored upholstery and gets me where I need to go (well, 90% of the time). In addition to being a fantastic car, Theodora holds years of memories that are precious to me. Before she was my prized possession, she belonged to the wonderful Grandma Gibson. I went on countless rides with her as a child, adoring not only my grandmother, but also the tiny rubber leprechaun that hung from the mirror in her car. The leprechaun was supposed to bring good luck while riding in the car (she also kept a small charm of St. Christopher, the patron saint of travelers, in her glove compartment just in case religion trumped the tiny leprechaun).
 |
| Theodora in all her beautiful glory |
Man, do I wish she had given me either the St. Christopher medal or the leprechaun when she gave me the car. Maybe if she had, I would have had better luck. Maybe if one of those little guys was resting in my gem of a car at night I wouldn't have come out to find Theodora gone.
That's right. Theodora was stolen from right outside of my apartment. One February morning as I walked out for morning practice, a little before 7 am, I found an empty spot where I'd parked my car the previous night. At first there was no panic, only confusion. I thought, "Okay, it's early. Maybe you didn't park there. Maybe that's where you parked yesterday". After looking all up and down the street, not seeing my car, finally getting my bearings after only being awake for about 10 minutes, I realized my car had probably been towed. Yes, that's what had happened. New Haven may not be known for minimizing crime, but they were definitely good at two things: giving parking tickets and towing cars.
Only there was one problem. I hadn't parked illegally at all. Now, I was truly confused by this point. Let me backtrack a bit. I'm from Bethesda, Maryland where salaries are high and crime is low. It did not even OCCUR to me that my car could have been stolen. But after calling the New Haven police, finding out if my car was in the system as being towed, finding out that it wasn't, I sat numbed in my room. Welcome to New Haven, huh?
For the next week and a half, I had to rely on my coaches (as I said relying on people is just the cherry on my sundae) to drive me to and from practices. When they couldn't drive me, I took New Haven's public transportation. Because I wasn't familiar with the bus trips, sometimes I left an hour before practice even started (even though the pool was only 1.5 miles away). But my all-time favorite moment came after a grueling two hour swim practice. Once I went to the bus station, I realized quickly that the weekend schedule was different than the weekday schedule I'd gotten used to. Instead of calling someone to pick me up and take me home, I swallowed my pride and decided it would be fine to walk home. One and a half miles was nothing. I was, after all, not only a Division I athlete, I was in great shape and ready to take on the world this year.
How wrong can one person be? Not only was this trip longer than I thought, it was also freezing outside. I had not been prepared for the February, Connecticut cold. I had not worn a hat, I had no gloves and as I walked I could feel my wet hair turning into ice. Just as I walked, cursing the life of the person who stole my car, it started to snow. If anyone saw me walking home that morning, I'm sure they would swear I was homeless and crazy as I stumbled, mumbling to myself the whole mile and a half. Once I got home and thawed my fingers I wrote on my Facebook:
Dear Asshole who stole my car three nights ago,
I just walked 1.5 miles in the snow/rain after a Saturday am practice. You are the coolest
person in the world for being so lazy that you had to steal from someone instead of going
out and getting a real job. I hope you live a long and wonderful and happy life.
Love,
Carly
A work of pure Shakespeare if you ask me. But that was the lowest point in the saga of Losing Theodora. A week later, as my parents drove to Connecticut to selflessly loan me our family Prius, the New Haven police called to tell us they'd found, the one and only, Theodora! A new Porsche wouldn't have made me as happy in that moment as finding Theodora. Little did I know, that the special people who decided to steal my car had also decided to burn out all four of my new tires. They had also decided that dropping my car off downtown seemed like a good idea. And why not? They didn't have to pay the $100 for towing. Neither did the city. All in all, it cost my parents about $600 to get Theodora back to "new".
I still think about certain things from that incident. For instance, how cool are you when you steal someone's 1990 Honda accord (a gift from their 90 year old grandmother)? Even cooler was that the seat was all the way back, suggesting the person really wanted to look awesome, riding like a rapper, seat back hand on the wheel (1990 Honda accord, remember). They didn't steal my Ray Bans in my front seat, but they sure did steal my Tide in the back seat. Hey, Tide's expensive. They didn't steal the gold necklace my boyfriend gave me for my 22nd birthday, but why not steal the tape deck from Wal-Mart that was $5. We are not talking about smart people here, let's face those facts right now.
I think about the days when Theodora was out there, all alone. Was she cold? Did she miss me? I know I'm crazy, but I tend to feel bad for inanimate objects. I don't want to let go of my baby blanket (a mere rag at this point) because I feel like I would be betraying her. I never claimed to be normal, so don't judge me. But most of all I think about the anger that rose in me as Theodora was gone. I felt so violated. As I walked home in the snow/slush I imagined what I'd do to the people who stole my car if I ever met them. I pictured myself making them sit in a chair and explaining how poor I was and how much of an inconvenience they'd created for me. I pictured guilting them in to apologizing to me. Telling them the sob story of how my elderly grandmother had so selflessly given me her car and how they had corrupted the pure memories of me riding in that same car as a child.
But I soon realized, I needed to give up my anger, understand I was lucky the car had even been returned to me and move on. I would never meet the people who stole my car. Even if I walked passed them on the street, they would not know me and I would not know them. I realized, they would never feel remorse for committing the crime. They didn't care that they'd robbed someone of $600, as well as inconvenience them.
I can only hope that my gallon of Tide, my tape deck, my phone charger and the tire jack (bought before I moved up to New Haven by my super-safe father that was not even opened) have served them well. I only hope as they recall stealing a 22 year-old car of a grandmother, peeling out with their hand high on the steering wheel, driver's seat almost fulling reclined, they look back upon it with joy in their hearts. Because that's all that really matters, right?
So in closing, I will say two things. The first: good riddance New Haven, I shall not miss you. And the second: whoever you are, wherever you are, you will always go down in my book at the coolest-grandma car-stealing-seat reclining-Tide using- thief I know!
No comments:
Post a Comment