Mean Streets of Southie

The mean streets of Southie have struck me again.

My car has officially been broken into for the first time in my life.

When the dust settled, and I cleaned up what remained of my stuff, I learned that the burglars took....

....nothing.

At first, I thought it was a friend pranking me. But on further thought, I think someone did indeed invade by Jeep.

I don't get it. No forced entry. No broken glass. Perhaps I left the doors unlocked, which I wouldn't put past me, but I do so rarely.

Reading the police blotters, I realize how hot GPS units are these days. Turn around and blink, boom yours is gone. I like my GPS. It was a present from my parents. It was expensive. It got me from Minneapolis to New Orleans. Her name is Jill. I never leave Jill in the car. I don't even leave her cradle on the windshield when she's not helping me (as to not entice situations like this....however my friend Brian told me that it was a good strategy after some of the rubber from his wife's GPS cradle suction cup fused to her windshield during high heat).

I returned to my car Sunday afternoon to find my miscellaneous items scattered about the seats and floor. Tissues, a couple CD's, my sunglasses case, my ipod car player - everything was simply somewhere it didn't belong, but it was all there.

Even the spare change - untouched. There was about $3 in quarters ready for the taking. They passed.

Thieves are becoming less discerning these days. People walk around on trash days and take 5 cent deposit cans from recycling bins, but a robber won't even take coin money right in front of them. I suppose that's a bit unfair, because the logic of that assumes that can collectors are thieves, which they are most certainly not synonymous.

But, next time, I should leave my GPS, meth, or heroin on the front seat for them to find. I won't have to reorganize the rest of my possessions.