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We lived in Washington, D.C., off and on for six years. And not always in the best neighborhoods, because DC rent is hilarious. That said, we never had any issues with vandalism or break-ins. Somehow.

Well, it only took nine months of living in crime-ridden urban hellscape of Annapolis to have my car broken into, in a locked, secure-access garage in our own apartment building. (And yes, my car was the only one vandalized.) Even the officer who responded said, “Yeah, I thought you guys were calling about the other garage. I never get calls for this garage. Like ever." LOLOL.

Backing up a bit, I must admit it took us a laughable 15 minutes to realize my car had been broken into. In spite of the obvious damage to the window, door and frame. 

When we got down to the garage, the car’s interior lights didn’t come on automatically as I approached — I realized I left the keys in our apartment, so I retrieved them while Patrick waited by the car. About five minutes later, I returned to find Patrick cleaning out the passenger seat of the car. Not because he had discovered the glass sprayed all over the dashboard or, you know, the smashed window pane.

I was confused by what he was doing, because I thought I had locked up the car — I now realize I had — but I went about helping him move a box of beer and other items into the backseat anyway.

Once we finally got into the car, we recoiled in horror as we noticed the damage that had been done.

No, just kidding. We obliviously chatted for a few minutes, still not noticing anything out of place. It wasn’t until I turned my head to look back as I reversed out of the spot that I shouted, “Oh my god!” Because, winner is me, I finally saw the busted window.

Wonder Twin powers, activate! Form of blind people!

Thankfully they weren’t able to kick in the full passenger window, as the footprints and dents left behind implied. And while they did steal a couple of things, they apparently didn’t find any beer to their liking, as my donation for the Annapolis Symphony gala silent auction in the passenger seat was jostled around, but in tact. (Maybe they’re not huge stout fans?) And when I came into the office this morning — almost three hours late — I found my saintlike boss had left me the present of beer on my desk this morning. It was not related to this incident, but the coincidence pleases me.

I know Wolfgang Prius of Destiny will ride again, but for now, I am incredibly angry and upset. Though I do owe an apology to the Tupperware I angrily threw on the ground in a fit of rage this morning. It didn’t do anything it wrong. It just wanted to carry my lunch.

Anyway, only one question remains — aside from the obvious mystery of who the twatwaffle is that broken into my car — what beer could I have purchased with the $500 deductible we now have to pay to get the car repaired? Please discuss.

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