this morning I found my car, my little mercury raped. violated.
last night I went for a walk. a beautifully uplifting walk through centennial park, down through Paddington, to rushcutters bay. as I walked back up the steep hills, my lungs sucked in the smells of home cooked dinners (being in the eastern suburbs, these were made by blue ribbon prized housewives, trained by the June dally Watkins and Donna haye no doubt). as I reached my doorstep I squealed with delight as my cats Powderpuff and Geraldine raced out to greet me from under the warmth of my car. I thought to myself 'I feel so safe, so happy, so calm, so proud to live here.'
this morning, feeling a little less blissed out, I raced to my car, in the desperate attempt to get to work on time, (well, relatively speaking, with post long-weekend in mind) as I opened the door and jumped into my blissbuggy mercury my heart jumped and quickly made a dive for my stomach.
the whole steering wheel front had been torn off, half my dash board was now on the floor of the passenger seat, and there was a general stench of fishy business. I sat there in disbelief. and then I cried.
I cried not so much for my steering wheel, or the lollies wasted and strewn throughout the car, but for a general feeling of disbelief. why had this happened? who did this? why did they? how could they be so angry in their inability to tear out my stereo, leading to the vicious rage that caused them to tear out my steering wheel instead? smackies for sure. but what lead them to being smackies. an abusive childhood, a great family tragedy? Social inequality? what has this world become? or has it always been this way? nature can be vicious.
walking up the street in a vain attempt to find my steering wheel, I noticed something odd. amidst all the untouched mercs and bmws there were three other Toyota corolla ascents. all broken into. all with a now warped passenger door. all with a tampered steering wheel. all Toyota corollas. all other cars were untouched.
I wrote a note on two of the other 'victims,' as the lady on 1800crimebusters described me as. and I spoke to another victim, Bruno. we were perplexed. I suggested it was ford or Holden getting revenge for corolla's unparalleled success as small car of the year. we both shook our heads and raced off to work. late.
my darling brother Justin took little mercury off to the dealership to get it fixed. he still wont tell me how much it cost to repair, I am near tears almost 12 hours later. you must understand mercury was my first love. He was the first man to show me the dedication, and blaring love ballads, and moonlit drives and warmth that I always dreamed a man would give me.
He also explained that this is common. This is not desperate smackies in need of money, food, a hit. This is organized crime. Smash repairers. At $1000 a pop for the safety airbags, it’s a lucrative business. Steal them for nothing (maybe a minor fee for a crim to do the dirty work) and then watch the suckers roll in, to buy a replacement one. On closer inspection, I apologize for instantly assuming it was a junkie. My mistake. its just another dirty trade
here are some photos of my beloved mercury, whom I now think I may have to sell. its been good little merc. but I’m just not rich enough...yet