No tools are kept in this van overnight
"don't like calling them KK donuts, coz that's only a typo away from being racist"
Centre button double press. "Sending Message"
Today has been a good day so far, I have managed to get through another day of work without having to put my tie on and it appears My Canadian Girlfriend is bringing donuts home for tea. I walk towards my car which is parked on the street outside work. The reason why it is parked on the street is complicated. Firstly, I had to go to the post office this morning so I couldn't get the tram in. Secondly, work have decided to charge me for the privilege of leaving my car at work, so I have taken to parking on what is known locally as "Cheap Bastard Ave."
I freeze as I approach my car. The passenger window is missing and there is glass on the floor.
The world moves slower. The ten metres to the car go slower than Simon Cowell making "the hardest decision ever" over who to eliminate from X-Factor. I travel those ten metres but I don't remember walking. I seem to have floated. It's a very surreal experience. The only other time I have felt like this was when I thought Amy, my first Nissan Micra, had been stolen. It turned out I was just stood on the second floor of the car park but my car was on the third.
Normally, if you take a right wing, anti-abortion, homophobe, racist, nut job and give them a gay son, who needs stem cell research to help with his Alzheimer's, with a black boyfriend - then their attitude tends to soften slightly. The same seems to happen to woolly criminal hugging liberals. One broken car window and you are Boris Johnson, calling for the death penalty.
It doesn't seem like they've taken anything. It’s a simple sat-nav smash and grab. The tell-tale rings on the window where I've licked all the way round the rim of the sticky end of the shaft act like a giant neon sign asking for the window to be smashed. The Scouse Bastards have opened the glove-box, thrown out everything looking for the sat-nav which is sitting on my Coco Shell Pedestal, from the Pier, at home. They left empty handed - but let's have a look at what you could've won!
On the back seat is the package I picked up from the post office containing a Denver Broncos Jersey costing around £20 off ebay.
In the glove box but over-looked - a plastic money bag containing a pound coin, normally used for shopping carts at Sainsburys.
A five year old monochrome screened iPod. I can't even get this stolen it's so bad!!!! The battery lasts for about 10 seconds without the charger and it only has 1/4 of my music collection on because I haven't been able to synch it with my computer since 2005 - making it only useful as a pirate radio station broadcasting on 108.0FM to my car radio
A cuddly toy
My emergency tenner from under the passenger's seat. Although there is a good chance that I used this about a month ago when I pulled up at Starbucks without any money in my wallet. I'm pretty sure I used it but I can't remember if I replaced it.
My Oakley's in the driver's door. These actually cost more than a sat-nav.
And of course the speed boat.
It's amazing the way your brain works when you're in a situation like this. Mine goes blank, all I can think of is that the cheeky twats have left their brick on the passenger's seat - at least they could've taken that. I am stuck and don't know what to do. I call the one person who knows everything.
"Dad - my car window has been broken - what do I do?"
My Dad is great. So far this week he's been asked to help fix a canvass tent, sense check my sister's personal statement for a job interview, stay with one of his "home-workers", while he was delivering to her, because she was worried she was miscarrying and now I'm piling this on top of him.
"Have you rung your insurance? I'd do that first. Ring me back when you've spoken to them". See, he knows everything.
I ring the insurance. A nice girl called Karen is on the other end of the phone and may be recording the call for training purposes.
"I've had my passenger window broken" I say into the phone.
"Oh No! That's terrible. Are you ok?" she says seeming concerned.
This is a very nice calming response and it makes me feel very cared for. Just like when you write off to TVAM and ask Roland Rat for an autograph and he sends you one back stating that you're his number one "rat fan". Of course there is a good chance that this phrase is simply part of their scripted customer care and they show this sort of faux-concern for everyone. Just like when you write off to TVAM and ask Roland Rat for an autograph for your sister and it turns out that she is also his number one "rat fan".
Karen suggests I drive home if I feel confident enough and wait for the on-call glazier, who I insist on calling a window fitter, arrives at 7pm. After making several calls to interested parties - My Canadian Girlfriend, My Little Sister and My Colleague parked two spots behind me, using these calls to perfect the jokes about being broken into - I drive home.
I vacuum the car lady-macbethly. I must get the stench of crime out of the car. I clean and I clean. 19:00 becomes 20:00 and then 21:00. I call the glass people and don't get Karen. "Yeah sorry, we've been really busy. We've got a guy from Liverpool coming on shift at 10 and you're his second job so he'll be over at midnight." And with that, all the good feelings I had towards the company has evaporated, losing them the opportunity of a free plug on my internet weblog. My window will not become more broken overnight so I cancel and re-book them for the next day when it will be a more appropriate time. And done by a Mancunian.