Boy, do I have a story for you. You remember all that time I
raved about how much I loved living in the city? Well, now the city is trying
to make me eat my words. Sunday morning, I went out to my car to go to ward
council, and what do I find but a car full of shattered glass. My poor Little
Boy Blue suffered one of the worst experiences a car can have: a smash and
grab. That’s right folks—welcome to the west side of town.
So after a small freak-out and a heartfelt prayer, I called
my dad, my relief society president, and the Salt Lake PD. When the officer
came, I reported the crime and gave an estimation of what I thought the
thief(s) took when they broke my window and snatched my backpack:
- Knock-off Ray-ban sunglasses from Madagascar
- Four or five CDs, some in French (Joke’s on them because they won’t understand the lyrics!)
- A small Book of Mormon that my mission president gave me
- The book Mockingjay by Suzanne Collins (I was only half-way through!)
- Two opera scores from the BYU library
- A mezzo-soprano aria songbook A portfolio of all the other music I’ve ever sung
The officer went around to the surrounding garbage cans
looking for my belongings. I was hoping he would find some stuff because I
thought there’s no way an eighteen-year old boy would want the musical score to
La Bohème. But the officer came up
empty-handed. So I literally swept up the pieces of my car (it being all glass),
and got on with my day. Luckily, a few friends helped me clean out my
glass-covered seats, dashboard, carpet, cup-holders, steering wheel and
gear-shift. After church, yet another
friend came by with a shop vacuum that sucked up all of the remaining, tiny
pieces of dangerous glass.
This morning, I realized that the deductible on my insurance
would probably be more than the actual amount needed to repair the broken
window, so with thoughts of spending about $300 today, I set off for the glass
shop. I handed over my keys and headed to a nearby Taco Time to wait with my
book. I thought, “Well, this is pretty low. Reading a romance novel while waiting
in a Taco Time for over an hour, sipping just a lemonade the entire time because
you shouldn’t buy a $4 taco if you’re about to pay $300 for a new window, while
other, more privileged customers in wife-beaters and miniskirts enjoy their pricey,
seven-layer burritos. Oh, the shame.”
But the story gets better. Really, it does. My mom called me
and told me that a nice man in Rose Park had miraculously found some of my
papers and had them at his house. Apparently, his neighbors had a rowdy party
last night, and some of their loot (a.k.a. my prized possessions) had landed in
his gutter. I was so grateful thinking that maybe I would get even a few of my
things back. When I got to his house (forcing myself to drive down the street where
Little Boy Blue’s ferocious violators live), I saw all the contents of my backpack
on this man’s living room floor. Literally, all of them. My Book of Mormon. My portfolio of music. My
library books. My songbooks. And every small scrap of paper that was in my
backpack. Those punks had even dumped
out my grammar flashcards that I left in my bag in case of editing/grammar emergencies.
I know—I’m a total square.
So, after the whole ordeal, I only had to pay $200 to have
the window replaced, and the only things I really lost were my backpack (which
went to Madagascar and is incredibly old and beaten up) and my sunglasses from
Madagascar. That’s it. A large miracle, in and of itself. So, my life may not
be peachy keen here in SLC, but I know that Heavenly Father hears my prayers.
And I know that He looks out for me in the large stuff and the small stuff. I’ve
decided I’ve got nothing to complain about. I might as well laugh about it now
and enjoy the new, sparkly, clean window in my car. One less thing for me to
wash, right?
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