The Day Someone Broke The Side-Mirrors Off My Car After I Saw Toy Story 3 With Sean In Roseville

The movie gets out around 11:00, I guess. All we know is that it's dark and cold outside in the bare aisles of the parking lot. Tree planters divide each lane like the guards along bowling alleys, with lamps posted between them with glowing bulbs casting auras across the asphalt. My black Acura is parked near one of the lights, almost beige colored from the shine on the layer of dirt that I've yet to wash from my neglected vehicle.

Here I am leaving a theater in Roseville after seeing Toy Story 3 with Sean.

Great movie, by the way. Fantastic.

When we're about twenty feet from the Acura, we both notice but don't mention strange shapes beneath the car--something like a shoe or a soda cup from the concession stand. It's only when we've gotten into the car that we realize something is wrong.

Earlier...

My knee is really starting to bother me. I can't even think of when it started doing this--can't be more than two weeks ago, at the most. It just hurts when I don't stretch it straight after a while, like when it's bent while driving or sitting at my desk. Maybe it's aching because of all the standing I've been doing at my various coffee-shop work places. Not so much with Creekside, but with all the others, for the past eight years. I might be young, but that's a long time to stand for six to eight hours a day. I woke up this morning with more knee pain. Not sure what else it could be. Stretched it out, willed it to repair, and set about my morning with a check of the old e-mail and a run down to Old Soul for a mocha from Meredith.

I do a little writing. It's about a bum named Hubert who finds a mirror in a dumpster and then starts hitch-hiking north. That's seriously all I've got right now, but I like the characters I've made and I want to see where they end up. Anyhow, that was fun to do and soon enough it was time to leave for Sac Press if I wanted to be there by 1:00.  

Parking is cheap in the Old Sacramento Garage thanks to a discount card I was allowed to get because I spend enough time working downtown. Still, driving is inefficient in this city unless I really need to get somewhere and have storage when I come back. I want to get a bike ASAP.

Today felt like a better day at the office than yesterday. Colleen was there and Brandon edited my Julie Ann story. Then there was the intern meeting with Dane and the editors, where we got to hear about upcoming story ideas and pick which ones we wanted to work on. I picked up a couple, which was an interesting feeling--like asking a teacher for homework. But I'm really getting into this whole journalism thing. I like that people open up when you tell them you're a reporter for Sacramento Press. I like the idea of people wanting to read something I wrote. There are contributors on the website from the neighborhood who do it so often you'd feel like you knew them. I wonder if I could become something like that while I'm interning there. I'm certainly going to try.

After that, I was free of obligations.

I went home and took a deep breath and then called Sean.

Later... 

"Your mirror's gone," Sean said.

My right mirror was gone--reduced to a short plastic stump and a bundle of wires bobbing like loose veins. It was totally gone. I wondered if the car parked on that side had trouble backing out of their spot, if they snapped it off and sped away without leaving a note. Those bastards.

"Your other one's gone, too," Sean said.

He was right. My left mirror was gone, too. Reduced to the same awkward handicap.

I was not angry. I was not upset. I was dumbstruck, but I didn't feel hate. Instead I stepped outside to re-examine those shapes I'd seen beneath the car, dropping to my knees and immediately finding one of the mirrors, detached from its plastic base. Sean and I both reach under to grab the rest of the mirror parts. Although they'd obviously been brutally detached from my car with the swift swing of something solid, like a baseball bat or roundhouse kick, the parts seemed fine. Nothing a bunch of duct tape and glue couldn't fix. Ghetto as all hell, but mirrors nonetheless.

I was not angry, but I was confused.

What the hell did this have to happen for?

I had just seen Toy Story 3, which was the epitome of happiness and love--so much so I might've cried if I'd been alone. I was in such a fantastic mood. I felt like I'd just spent two hours in a sauna with the Dalai Lama talking about the philosophy of life. The movie tapped into a bond I shared with these characters that I didn't even know I had--but I loved the way Toy Story 3 was an incredible goodbye to a great trilogy and its loyal fans.

Movie review aside, my goddamn mirrors had been karate-chopped off my car.

How could something so wonderful so quickly transition to something awful? And why my car? And why were the mirrors under the car? Was it someone I'd parked next to? Did I have enemies I didn't know about? Was it a mistaken identity? Should I go back and tell the staff? Do I file a police report?

Nothing else was damaged. Nothing stolen. No note, either.

I don't understand what motivates someone to do that. My only logical excuse for such behavior is to think it was a dare. Someone must've been provoked to do that. I can not understand why anyone else would feel the impulse to bash off my mirrors. I don't know where that comes from. There's just an underlying evil in this society that never stops showing its face, and it sucks when that evil happens to turn its eyes on you. I'm just glad the car wasn't really damaged and that Sean and I weren't jumped and stabbed or something worse. At least the evil only went for my car.

Although it's also come for my knee...

Anyway, I'm still not mad. Simply puzzled. It's an interesting moment of my life and I suppose the tranquility comes from trusting in Forrest Gump. Shit happens.

- Left to Fry