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LITTLE VAN LOST
PT. 1
Posted - 4/10/03 05:29 PM PST
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The first car. For some, it's an inherited family truckster. For others, it's a $500 dollar whale that they bought with their hard earned Arctic Circle dollars. Regardless of where they come from, these vehicles are usually crashed, impounded, sold for scraps, taken away by a parent or consumed by a giant squid by the time the driver can legally watch an R-rated movie. For several reasons (poverty, a lack of pride, an undergraduate degree in English), I'm still driving mine.
I own a 1984 Toyota van that's held together with bumper stickers and Rustoleum spray paint. Pepsi stains and cigarette burns cover 72% of the interior. It's been in a grand total of 5 accidents and still bears many scars. The windshield is cracked, the side door is supporting its own ecosystem and there's still brillo pad marks on the front from when I decided to fight dirty with the decade old bug splats. Even as far back as 1995, the vehicle has had no estimated Blue Book value.
Despite all this, THE GODDAMN THING WAS STOLEN LAST WEEK BY SOME HEARTLESS, INSANSE, SCUM-SUCKING FUCKBALL!
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Against all odds, this vehicle has climbed mountains and blazed through floods. In a single weekend, at the ripe old age of 18, it tore through a blizzard on Mt. Washburn and endured a July high-noon in the Mohave desert. This van has even fought a buffalo. It may not look like much, but it has the heart and kidneys of a lion.
Believe it or not, this very Toyota van has been stolen before. In September of 1997, it was taken from a "secured" parking lot on the University of Oregon campus. I remember the call from a farmer in Crestwell. "Um, are you going to get your car off of my property? It's been sitting here for two days." I didn't even know it was gone.
After hours of arguing with the Eugene Police Department and a local tow truck company, I caught a cab at midnight. The van was ditched a quarter-mile up a gravel path that led into blackness. To add an extra element of danger, the windows were fogged up. Two words: mini meth lab.
A van's eye view of a carwash.
OK, not really. But I wasn't going to go near the thing without at least a machete. 30 minutes later, the tow truck finally arrived. No bins of iodine or sleeping transients awaited when I cracked the side door. Thank God I left the stereo's face in the glove box. Otherwise, my dash board wouldn't have been torn apart by the thieves. For the next year, I drove around with a $20 boom box duct taped to interior.
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Flash forward. On the night of March 29th it was pouring rain in Portland. All I wanted to do was head into the trendy part of town and lay down good money to watch a French guy bash in someone's head with a fire-extinguisher. I'd heard good things about "Irreversible" and left the house early.
Finding a parking spot near the Cinema 21 is like trying to find a deli that still sells French fries south of the Mason-Dixon line. The neighborhood surrounded it is a congested anthill of boutiques, spendy eateries and apartment buildings that still have clawfoot bathtubs. There are people in Jettas that have been circling blocks in NW Portland since New Years.
I left the van at the corner of 19th and Irving. After checking the doors no less than 7 times each, I headed to the theater. 2 hours and one crushed movie-prop skull later, I returned, thinking happy thoughts. A warm puddle of transmission fluid sat were I'd left the van.
"No matter," I convinced myself, ignoring the tell-tale puddle. "I surely left it on another corner. Indeed, I must have. Indubitably."
Ever find yourself wandering the streets in search of a lost vehicle? Ever run into a petite undergrad, also alone? You know, the sort of girl that weighs 90 lbs, looks like Bambi at a bar-b-q and just happens to be heading in the same direction as you? Don't they make you feel like the Big Bad Wolf? Ever walk two block out of the way, only run into her again? Don't you hate that shit?
I ran into around 3 of these brittle, doe-eyed types during my fruitless search. Angry, confused and miles from my apartment, I did what any other 23-year old male would have done in my shoes. I called my mommy.
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"What do you mean the goddamn van's gone?" I must have woken her. After all, it was 1 in the morning. "Only you could get that piece of crap stolen."
Thanks, Mom.
In front of a closing Starbucks, I waited for my father. Goateed kids my age lurched past, flaunting cell phone cameras and $200 shoes. Who *are* these people and where do they come from? Portland has boasted the highest unemployment rate in the country for a solid year. There's no way the local economy can support over a few dozen of these uberminches that always seem to be in the middle of the greatest night of their lives. This part of town is chock full of them.
A bearded homeless man sat at the counter inside. He started at me the entire time as I paced and glared at the endless parade of Gap models. The barista glared at him, eager to go home. I was in the middle of ring of condescension
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I joked with the cop who filled out the stolen vehicle report an hour later. I couldn't stop asking stupid questions.
"What if the thief kills someone? Will you guys come looking for me?"
"Not with a stolen vehicle report filed."
"If they ditches it on a city street and it gets ticketed, do I have to pay the fine?"
"Not sure."
"If the thief ditches it in public swimming pool. Do I have to pay to have it fished out?"
"I don't know. Probably."
"Do you guys have any leads?"
"Yeah, they've got two more detectives on the case. Wouldn't hold much hope for the Creedence."
Another Big Lewbowski fan.
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The next day I declared class warfare on NW Portland. In a neighborhood full of unlocked Volkswagens, my $2.00 van was stolen. It would pay for this inconceivable crime. I vowed to leave doog poo on the doorsteps of my opressors. To draw smiley faces on their windshields with a blue magic marker. By morning, every shop window on 23rd would be soaped. No tree would be left un-TP'd.
Once the sun set, I'd dress in clothing for stealth: a black KWVA t-shirt, ski pants and matching stocking cap. My long-lost Toyota van would be avenged!
To be continued...
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