Saturday, June 20, 2009

When Grand Theft Auto is not a Game

Being the last one at the gym tonight, I offered to help the girl that works there close out by taking the garbage to the dumpster in the back. As I walked around the building to the front entrance, I took a quick glance at my car.

That wasn’t there.

Holy shit, I thought. Did I park in the back this time? Or further out?

I never park in the back, and my car was nowhere in the front to be found. Son of a bitch! My mind raced. What the hell did I leave in it? My cell phone? My wallet? Thank God I didn’t have my laptop in there! Damn damn DAMN! I just bought the damn thing a month ago! Now all I could think about is what my mom said the day I brought my car home: “You know, Honda Accords are one of the most-stolen cars in America.”

“Mom,” I said at the time. “I live in Cape Coral, not friggin’ Miami.”

I couldn’t believe that my mother’s concern had come to fruition. Pissed, I barged back in the gym, knowing I’d have to call the police and my insurance company. I was so distracted, in fact, that I tripped and nearly fell over…

…the bicycle I rode to the gym tonight.

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