What do you hear?
When we left off, I had just received no help at all from either the police or my insurance company in providing me back up as I attempted to recover my stolen bike from the thief.
A few hours into the afternoon, I got a call from the seller. I was hoping that he could hear me trembling with fear over the phone line. We figured out that he was coming from
Because my strong and fearless husband was now out of town for the next three days, I called on the support of my friends to serve as beefy back up. “Woody” and “Putty” were my back up guys, and they agreed to meet me at my house at 6:30 PM so we could stake out the meeting place in advance and develop a strategy.
I still had hope that I might be able to get some sort of help from the police, so instead of taking my usual route when walking Daphne that evening, I walked her to the metro station where there seems to permanently be at least on police officer on duty, surveying the scene. Always the ambassador of good will, Daphne helped me to immediately build rapport with the officer there. He was originally from
By the time I handed over my paperwork, the officer was finally coming around to believing that this very likely could have been my bike, and I could see cop adrenaline starting to flow at the thought of capturing the bad guy.
I asked him to wait around the corner from the school, while Woody and Putty waited in their car, parked on the street in front of the school. I sat on the front steps of the elementary school. The landscape around me suddenly became a real-life Where’s Waldo scene, where instead of finding a guy in a red striped shirt, I was finding police cars. I was finding them everywhere, in parks, around corners, in parking lots, driving down adjacent streets. And they were all pointing at me. And I waited. And waited. And waited some more. It was now about 7:40, and I was starting to develop a plan of how I was going to get out of this without looking like a complete idiot in the event that he was a no-show. And then he called. He was a little lost and about 4 blocks away. He was going to park his car there since he found a spot, then ride the bike to the school.
So I kept waiting, trying to get into “character.” I was looking to buy a road bike from an online seller. I was willing to pay the asking price of $600. I was a girl, alone in a school yard, with 6 hypothetical $100 bills in my pocket. And he may have been planning to show up, steal my hypothetical money, then kill me. Before I could imagine what he was going to do with my body, and how horrifying and life-altering it would be for the poor child who discovered my half buried corps in the sand box while on recess, I had my cell phone at the ready and was calling Woody to come wait with me. I mean, he wouldn’t have time to kill us BOTH before the cops got there, right?
Shortly after Woody got out of the car to meet me, the Salesman arrived, wobbling down the sidewalk on my bike. Watching him try to ride it with my clipless peddles, served as some much needed comic relief.
I introduced myself, smiled and shook his hand. I tried to make “normal” small talk and asked him how old the bike was. He thought it was about two years old. Yeah… two years cause he bought it at a garage sale about two years ago. And he paid like, $850 for it at the time.
I refrained from telling him that he was sure lucky to have taken that much cash with him when he went garage-saleing that day.
I took the bike for a “test ride” around the corner, where in full view of the police officer, I turned the bike upside down and inspected the serial number. I gave him the thumbs up, and turned it back upright, and heading back toward him. Before I could turn the peddles twice, the guy was being surrounded by 4 officers. I think I heard a “You! Stay right there! You’re under arrest for…..”
There were zip ties, Miranda rights, questions for me with my answers hastily scribbled on note pads, just like in the movies. Photos taken of the bike in various positions etc.
Lots of smiles and cheers on one side of the street, and surely lots of anger, embarrassment and frustration on the other.
It’s still in pretty good shape, but has some new scratches and bruises. So I’d say its resale value went down. It was probably thrown in the back of a truck/van though, so I’m going to have it checked out to make sure the only damages are cosmetic. He also took off my bumble bee saddle bag, which was one of my favorite parts of the bike. Yes, I bought it off the clearance rack in the kid’s bike section of Target for about 2 dollars, but it had an emotional value…. And also contained a not so cheap bike multi tool and repair kit.
I have to give a nod of thanks to the police officers for having a lot of tact in the whole situation (after they started believing me of course) in that as soon as I got on the bike, I had no further interaction with the guy, and was not even close enough to make eye contact with him. This was a good thing, as if I were close enough I probably would have told him I was really sorry for getting him in so much trouble, and that I was sure he just really needed the money, and that I really just needed my bike back. What the heck is wrong with me?? Still kind of wondering why I feel so bad for getting this guy in trouble. Must be some sort of modified Stockholm Syndrome. But I’m getting over it, and I’m happy to have my bike back. But most of all, I’m happy that I got something back! After having quite a theft prone year, it’s nice to know that the bad guys don’t always win in the end. And I’m glad I tipped off the police about this little thing called the internet, where people can anonymously sell things that may or may not be theirs to sell.
But the best part of the whole ordeal (besides getting my bike back) was toward the end when head police officer guy looked over at me and said, (and I’m not even paraphrasing): “Ma'am" that was some excellent detective work.”
Case closed.
Chapter 1: Channeling my inner Nancy Drew.
I’ve always been a card carrying member of the Red Headed Brigade (an imaginary undground network developed and maintained for and by the red-headed community…) but every once in a while I really see the strength of my titian hair surface in my day-to-day life. Yesterday was one such day.
This Saturday morning, I woke up on the early side (for me at least, would have been sleeping in from the perspective of some people. Kelly.) to have breakfast and make it to the 10:30AM spinning class at the YMCA in
After a grueling 45 minute class, I grabbed my bike helmet and pack from my locker and headed for home.
But my ride was nowhere to be found. Gone. And another bike already in its place, locked securely to the same fixture to which I had so recently locked my bike.
>insert fiery red-head scene of anger and frustration here<
Being at this point, a seasoned veteran of theft victimization, I methodically initiated the usual routine. Call the police. Call the insurance company. Look through the filing cabinet to find the originally sales receipt, invoice, owner’s manual and other documents that can help to prove ownership. Call the police back with the serial number and explain the whole story to the new person on the phone. Be angry. Grieve.
Cut to Monday morning. I was up and getting ready for work and while brushing my teeth, remembered that I wanted to check Craigslist to see if my bike was for sale. I knew the odds were slim, I mean, what kind of idiot would steal a bike, them post photos of it for sale the next day, in the same city? But I suppose it was part of my grieving process. I needed to try. I wasn’t ready to let go.
I was already running late, but I fired up my laptop while waiting for the iron to heat up and typed “cannondale” into the DC “wanted/for sale” search box.
On top of the list there was a heading of “Cannondale R500”… No way…. Click.
There was my bike!
So I called the police non-emergency number and they sent over an officer to help me figure out what to do. An hour later an officer showed up and I told her that my stolen bike was listed for sale on Craigslist.
“Where is that store?” she asked.
“It’s an online classified service. It’s only online.” I explain.
After explaining the concept of the World Wide Web to this officer (leaving out Al Gore’s significant role as inventor for the sake of brevity), she called a detective at the station for advice.
After an annoyingly long three way conversation, characterized with copious miscommunication between all parties I had my verdict: because we couldn’t see the serial numbers in the photos, there was no way to prove that the bike was mine (never mind the fact that it had my air pump, my pedals, my saddle…). She advised me that my only option would be to contact the seller and arrange a time to look at the bike. Once I saw it and could identify the serial number, I could call 911 and explain that I was witnessing my stolen property, then wait with the seller/thief for the police to arrive.
>insert eye roll here<
I went to work and could think of little other than my bike and how exactly I was to get it back. Not wanting the bike to be sold from under me, I e-mailed and called the seller, leaving him a message of how interested I was in the bike, and that I really wanted to try it out ASAP.
*By the way, his voice mail greeting was “You know who it is. Drop it after the beep.” Clearly an avid cyclist*
I churned ideas around with some friends at work, everyone eager to help solve the crime. I called the insurance company to see if they had any ideas- after all, they have a vested interest in this bike too. The claims person also had no idea what craigslist was, but barely understood the comparison to Ebay. . In other words, he wasn’t much help and didn’t offer any advice other than “I’ll refer this to a Senior Claims agent, she’ll get in touch with you within a few days.”
Am I alone in thinking that police and insurance adjusters should really get ON this apparently untapped clearinghouse for stolen goods??
Humph. No help from the police or the insurance company. And because the previously ingenious husband was going out of town that afternoon for two days for some conference or meeting-type thingy, I’m flying solo on this bike recovery mission….
Stay tuned for the next chapter of Nancy Drew Gina Grace and the
I’d love to tag others, but since the only bloggers I really KNOW, have tagged this to moi, I really can’t. Shucks.
10) Favorites
COLOR: Can’t pick one. green, blue, orange.
FOOD: club sandwiches on toasted white bread rule.
MONTH: July, but not necessarily July in DC.
SONG: If I HAD to, Had, to had to pick one, the only one that consistently makes me happy- as in every SINGLE time I hear it, I want to stop what I’m doing to listen is Dave Mathews Band’s “Crush”
MOVIE: Oh fer Jeeez, I can’ pick just one.
SPORT: Any equestrian sports. Or Cougar Football.
SEASON: Spring- but maybe that’s just because I’m looking forward to it now.
DAY OF THE WEEK: Friday
ICE CREAM FLAVOR: thin mint girl scout cookie from Dryers/Edy’s
TIME OF DAY: 5PM
9) Currents:
MOOD: anxious
CLOTHES: Navy sailor-front pants and a purple sweater
TASTE: like taste in my mouth? Lean Cuisine. Taste as in personal taste? Classic. (duh)
TOENAIL COLOR: hot pink and needing attention.
TIME: almost 3PM
SURROUNDINGS: I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.
THOUGHTS: I don’t want to give up blogging, but I realize Ginapalooza is needing some major life support.
WONDERINGS: Is she going to accept our offer??(that we put on a house on Saturday)
8) First:
BEST FRIEND: Elisha T, my neighbor in then-Redmond. We made lots of forts and did lots of plays/puppet shows etc.
KISS: Brian H. I was 16, and way too old for my first kiss, but it was pretty rad.
SCREEN NAME: Ginawsu
PET: Peaches the white rabbit.
PIERCING: Ears. One each.
CRUSH: There was a boy in my 3rd grade class named Brady that I “went with” for about three hours. I must have had a crush on him, though I remember having absolutely NO control over the creation and subsequent dissolution of the relationship, so I think it was more orchestrated by my (by then) friend Marilyn, who had a major crush on HIS best friend.
HOME LOCATION:
7 Lasts:
CIGARETTE: Kappa Delta Senior dance, 1998. My junior year. Had just broken up with long term BF, (see#8, item 2) and discovering this whole new fabulous thing called “Being single and available” which involved learning that yes, in fact, I did have it goin’ ON (see #10, item 4). Got set up with a no-love-connection date and drank copious amounts of Captain Morgan. The last thing I remember was standing in the “smoker” of ATO’s (my date was an AGR- I don’t know what happened to him) and taking drags off of Marlboro Reds like I’d been doing it since childhood.
DRINK: Saturday evening, drowning my sorrows after the WSU/Vandy game.
KISS: this morning, as I was half-sleep walking into the shower, and gallant husband was leaving for work. Hadn’t really opened my eyes yet, so I can’t be 100% certain that it was him.
MOVIE SEEN AT THE MOVIE THEATER: Premonition. I highly recommend NOT seeing it. Very disappointed in Sandy Bollocks.
PHONE CALL: husband.
CD PLAYED: “This I Believe” essays from NPR that Anne got me for Christmas. Been listening in the car.
GIFT RECEIVED: Mom and Dad bought us dinner last night when they were in town.
6:
HAVE YOU EVER DATED ONE OF YOUR BEST FRIENDS? I did have an awkward make-out with Mitch in high school, and we were really good friends-only until then. (it was during the first of many temporary break-ups with #8 item 2) But other than that, no. I’d love to say that I’m currently married to my best friend, but we were way “more than friends” for quite some time before we actually became friends.
BEEN ARRESTED: never
BROKEN THE LAW: probably
SKINNY DIPPED: I think I have, but only with family. Wait… that sounds weird. I’m generally not a fan.
BEEN ON TV: I think I was on a short interview clip on the news when there was a bomb threat in
KISSED SOMEONE YOU DIDN'T KNOW: Yes.
5:
THINGS YOU'VE EATEN TODAY: coffee, string cheese, Lean Cuisine (acorn squash ravioli- my fave), coffee yogurt, two mini Hershey chocolate things from co-workers candy basket on her desk that I have to walk by over and over…
YOU'VE DONE TODAY: got up, drove to work while eating string cheese and drinking coffee, worked, felt bad about not blogging…
YOU CAN'T LIVE WITHOUT: Besides many people, Daphne and the thought of moving into a bigger place soon.
YOU CAN HEAR RIGHT NOW: not much.
YOU DO WHEN YOU GET BORED: Look for houses online.
4:
PLACES YOU'VE BEEN TODAY: my apartment, my car, my office.
3:
PEOPLE YOU CAN TELL ANYTHING TO: Beth, Allison, Husband, but primarily Daphne…
2 Choices:
a. BLACK OR WHITE : black.
b. HOT OR COLD: eh?
1. THING YOU WANT TO DO BEFORE YOU DIE:
Produce little people in my likeness, watch them grow up and do the same. Own a horse. Own a damned house.
And cripes, that’s all I’ve got time for. Really I should wait to post this until its chalked full of exciting things, but at this rate, that might another several months. Hoping to add more soon…
I could say that I’ve been too busy to write, but that wouldn’t be entirely true. Why just the other day, I spent a good 45 minutes reflecting on the inherent humor of growing up in the 90’s, and web researching the whereabouts of the actress that played Kimmy Giber on TV’s Full House. Which lead me to the discovery that Jody Sweetin (ie Stephanie Tanner) was almost a child star-turned normal, happy, functioning member of society before a little tousle with methamphetamines. Sounds like she’s getting back on track which is well- just impressive. Good for her. As I recall from my days in the public health “trenches,” that stuff is capital B-A-D and can really mess a person up. Come to think of it, these are the kind of problems that probably could have been easily avoided if there was a conscious effort to make sure there was just as much “Dad and Steph” time as there was “Dad and Deej’” time, as I do recall that about every show ended with Bob Saget kneeling down with a various child actress on his knee, wiping a tear from her eye and saying:
“Ever since mom died, blah blah blah…. You know what I think we should do? Let’s be extra sure to plan more special Dad n’ (insert child name here) time. You know- just the two of us. How does that sound?”
(Thank you Bob Saget, for not only modeling “effective parenting skills” but also for giving any would-be child molesters a perfectly scripted pick-up line.)
And it seems that I’ve gotten a bit off track here…
All is good here with me. I’ve taken several big breaths and have sufficiently exhaled now that J is HOME. Ummm…. home. A nicer word than I’ve ever known.
Been listing to a lot of Nanci Grifith lately. In the car of course, so I can sing along loudly and really solidify my white girl identity. It’s kind of my happy-place music, so I guess that’s where I am.
