- 0 1 0 1 0 - LITTLE VAN LOST PT. 2 Posted - 4/25/03 02:39 AM PST - 0 1 0 1 0 - Clouds from flaming dog poop should have clogged their lungs. Graffiti-covered windshields should have blinded their purple-tinted retinas. Streams of lemon-scented toilet paper should have blocked their view of the sky. I was to become the scourge of the Pearl District--- a Sharpe packin' ninja in a radio station t-shirt. My masked face would be on the cover of every local rag. Lars Larson would devote entire shows to speculating my identity. I would bring NW Portland to its knees. Folk songs would make my rampage timeless. But instead of all that, I went into a Vice City-enduced coma. Playstation saved the residents of NW Portland hundreds of dollars in property damage. Eight hours of firing bazookas at digitized cop cars melted away my sociopathetic lust for retribution. After nightfall, I wasn't avenging my beloved Toyota Van; I was running down imaginary pedestrians in a stolen tank. - 0 1 0 1 0 - I got the call on a Wednesday morning. The van was alive and recovering in a downtown garage. It was found three blocks from where I'd parked it. Apparently, the most considerate thief in the world "borrowed" the van for a few days. If you ever have a car stolen or towed out of the Pearl District, it's liable to wind up at A & B Automotive Towing on SW 12th. The business consists an underground parking garage with a small office. Impounded vehicles sit behind a locked fence. The ones that aren't picked up in a few weeks are sold at auction. At their east side location, thieves have repeatedly cut through the electric fence. A few months ago, two ten year-olds were caught in the lot with a bag full of stereos. Careful, it might pounce. I was expecting to find the van covered in dents, urine and spray paint. It was parked up front, looking like a dog in a pound but no worse for wear. I paid the $105 towing fee and in exchange the clerk unlocked the gate. The body was in the shape I left it; scrapped paint on the side from when my sister hit a cab, dented side door from countless riders who slammed themselves against the handle rather than close it gently. The interior was a different story. The thief left behind a girl's bicycle and a bag of shoes (?!!). I waited 30 minutes at the garage for the police to arrive and take away the stolen goods. For some strange reason, they never showed. I thought about keeping the shoes, all of them high heels, but none of them fit. If you're interested, they're probably still sitting on the sidewalk. - 0 1 0 1 0 - My grandfather owned and operated his own trash hauling business for 35 years. His garbage truck reeked of rotting cabbage, even when empty. You could smell it from a block away. My van now carried the same scent. I drove home with the windows down. "A junkie probably stole it," my mother warned. "You'd better put on a pair of work gloves. There could be needles back there." Armed with gloves and a vacuum, I carefully went through the crime scene, expecting a metal poke in the shins at any second. A shot of the "coffee" stain. My first aid kit was long gone but the thief somehow missed the stereo face I conveniently left in the glove box. A stack of CD-Rs, worth a grand total of -$4.00 were also missing. What kind of maniac had stolen this thing? Wherever you are Thiefy, I hope your enjoying my band aids and worthless dub of Tenacious D. Rolling tobacco was everywhere. The thief also thoughtfully poured a full 16 oz cup of Starbucks coffee on the carpet. A full bottle of Pine Sol did nothing to erase the puddle. It really adds to the décor and fits in well with all the two decade old Pepsi stains. Another battle scar to add to the collection. - 0 1 0 1 0 - The van was littered with clues. Thiefy apparently had an appetite for Breakfast Jacks. He/she/they purchased one at 5:57 AM at the Jack in the Box on Airport Way. Muddy boot prints covered the dash board and fingerprints were smeared all over the driver's side window. Most interesting of all was a prescription bottle left behind. Joseph Scott of NE 101st St. in Vancouver, if you want your empty bottle of Kmart OxyContin, give me a holler. I thought about calling Jack or maybe rolling north to toss a laundry basket full of M80s at his house. After all, he could be the thief. More likely, he's just another one of Theify's victims. That could have been Jack's bag of high heels. Where's Sipowicz when you need him? Theify also neglected to pay the three parking tickets that were left on the windshield. I called PPD. While they were accrued after the van was stolen I was still going to stiffed with the fines. Good thing the thief never ran anyone down. I could be sitting in an electric chair right now. The tiny print on the tickets claimed I could contest the fines. I sent a nasty letter to Police Headquarters along with the money. The checks were cashed three days later. A can of Lysol and an aforementioned bottle of Pine Sol later, the van still reeked. Instead of garbage it now carried a pleasant potpourri of confers, Dairy Mart bathrooms and, well, garbage. Three weeks later, the smell still lingers. Even a legion of Little Trees couldn't wash away this environmental disaster. Over time, I've grown used to it. Maybe I should give it a name. Odeur de Junkie Piss has a nice ring but it doesn't exactly roll off the tongue. Rex will have to do. - 0 1 0 1 0 - Well, that about does 'er. Wraps 'er all up. In a neighborhood full of overpriced Volkswagens, my $2.00 van was stolen to facilitate the robbing of women and small children. I thought I was being punished for overdue sins from a previous lifetime. The bill for the van's adventure came to $150, minus the cost of replacing all those CD-Rs full of illegally downloaded music. You hear that, God? No more van thievery. If that thing gets jacked one more time I expect a karmic rebate check. Previous -->