Dude, Where's My Car?

Until the week of May 21st, I thought “Dude, Where’s My Car?” was just the name of a bad Ashton Kutcher movie (not to be confused with all of his high quality films…). How naïve of me; I quickly learned what a shortsighted fool I’ve been. On Monday, May 21st, just three days before my birthday, I came home from a late volleyball match and some partying at midnight. Like with most Chicago residents, it can be a real adventure to find parking in my neighborhood, near Diversey and Clark. I may spend up to thirty minutes on my quest to find a vacant spot. Fortunately, I don’t have to drive much. The last time I had driven my car was on Saturday, May 19th. Imagine my surprise to have found a spot open on my own street. Typically, I have to park a few blocks away. As Chicago drivers know, it is necessary to check on your car every few days, to make sure street cleaning signs have not been posted or temporary “no parking by police order” tow signs have not appeared, where you parked. While I parked on my own block Saturday, I had not passed my car since then and decided Monday night, walking home from volleyball, was a good time to check up on my vehicle. I wasn’t exactly sure where I parked; just the general area where I parked. I went to that area. Hmm; my car wasn’t there. I must have parked it a little further down the block than I remembered. Nope; still not there. I went even further. Nothing. When I reached the end of the block, I became very puzzled. My car wasn’t anywhere on the block.

I did what any reasonable person would do and walked up and down the entire block, frantically, searching for my car. I did this several times. My mind began to play tricks on me. You must have parked it a block over, on Burling (Burling, Oakdale, and Surf are the only places outside Orchard where I park my car. When you can’t find your car, you hit all the places where you normally park, sometimes actually forgetting where you left it until you see it.) I headed over to Burling. It’s a long block, I walked all of it, and still no car. Oakdale. I trekked up there; nope. Clearly you parked on Surf. No signs of my car on Surf. F$@*! Where was my car? I knew you parked it on your block. Oh shut up, mind!

This was quite a quagmire. No way would someone steal my car. There are dents and scratches all over it. The driver’s front parking light is busted. The windshield is divided into two halves by a long crack. The driver’s side view mirror is gone, courtesy of some schlep who walked down my block one night and busted out all the driver’s side view mirrors on cars parked on the east side of the street. The crème de la crème are the two bungee cords holding the bumper to the front of the car. See? There’s no way in hell someone would steal my car; it would be like mugging a vagrant. (By the way ladies, I’m single, if you can believe that.)

The only other option was that the city of Chicago towed my car. But why? I didn’t owe any money for parking tickets on the vehicle, had not been parked in a tow zone, and had the proper zone permit for my area (which is punishable by ticket, not tow). I went home and checked online. I found where I could search for my vehicle by plate, to see if it had been towed by the city. “There are no records for this plate” was the response onscreen. Okay, I’ll check by VIN number. “There are no records for this VIN number.” I called 311. The operator verified that my car had not been towed. Again, what the f$@*! I did a little more research and discovered one last option—apparently, the city sometimes finds it necessary to relocate vehicles when they have to do some emergency utility work. I remembered seeing a ComEd truck on my block earlier that day and breathed easier; surely, my car had simply been relocated. I called 311; nope, my car had not been relocated.

Now I really began to panic. I was a comedian for nearly ten years and drove all over North America in the several cars I’ve owned. Having a car stolen was like losing a limb or a best friend. I actually felt bad because I didn’t get a chance to say goodbye to it! Plus, I had one hundred copies of my book “God is a Woman: Dating Disasters” in the trunk, which the publisher would make me replace by paying the printing costs, at six dollars a book. (When you live in a studio, your car trunk comes in handy for storage. Remember, still single, ladies!) I also had a bunch of tools in the trunk, including a set of socket wrenches which my father gave me, who has since passed away.

Tuesday, May 22nd, I called the city’s tow and relocation numbers again; there was still no record of the city doing anything with my car. I went to a police station and reported it stolen. When the police found out I drove a ’95 Toyota Corolla (yes, still single! Can you believe it?), they told me it was a very popular car for parts. At that point I came to the realization that my car had been stolen. Everyday, three times a day, I still called the city’s tow and relocation numbers, figuring at some point the car would be junked on the street and the city would tow it. Perhaps I could get my books and sentimental-valued wrenches out of the trunk. My birthday on the 24th came and passed; still no signs of my car. During this time I began speaking with a friend about buying her car, which she is selling because she is moving to New York. She wanted five grand for it. I really didn’t want to spend five grand when I don’t drive that much but I like having a car and I do need it.

On Sunday, May 27th, nearly a week after my car was stolen, I decided to take another hike around the neighborhood, looking for it. (I had already taken several throughout the week.) I walked several blocks away to the old owner’s apartment; maybe he stole the car. I walked up and down eight blocks before I came to Oakdale, a street I had already checked. After contemplating for a few minutes, I decided to head down Oakdale again, just in case some moron was driving my car around the neighborhood and was stupid enough to park it on the street in plain view. I was four blocks away from home. As I walked down the street, I saw a Corolla in the distance. More importantly, I saw a familiar reflection on its windshield; the reflection only a crack across a windshield can make. I got excited and hastened my pace. Yup, it was my car. I checked it over and got in. It clearly had not been driven. I opened the trunk; all of my copies of “God is a Woman: Dating Disasters” and the tools from my dad where still there. Whew! I drove it home and found a spot in front of my place, thinking my ordeal was over.

Upon calling the police, I learned I had to stand by my car and dial 911. An officer came out and wrote up a report, so that I wouldn’t get arrested driving my own car. He shook his head when I told him the story; clearly, this was not the first time he had heard such a thing. Just for kicks, I called the city after he left. They swore, once again—for what had to be about the twentieth time now—that my car had not been towed or relocated. In reality, the city of Chicago had indeed relocated my car, not just once, but twice! (Remember, I checked the Oakdale block the night my car went missing and it was not there; the city relocated it to that block later in the week.)

So, if your car goes missing, don’t worry; the city of Chicago will not have a record of stealing it (which is essentially what happened). You will not have any idea where it is or where it went, whether it was stolen by a criminal or whether Mayor Daley just took it to get detailed. What does Chicago expect you to do when they steal your car and park it some place else? Why, just wander around aimlessly for days or weeks looking for it, until you happen upon it. Just for kicks, they might move it more than once. Isn’t that fun? Hopefully, you don’t need your car daily or foolishly go out and buy a new one; that would screw up the game. Why would you want to do that? Isn’t it fun to wander around looking for your car, thinking important personal items had been lost, not to mention your car? He he he, what a blast! I can’t wait for the next time Chicago decides to play, “Dude, Where’s My Car?” with me! I hope I don’t have to wait until my birthday next year and I thank the city for giving me such a wonderful birthday gift. I love aging five years worrying about my car on one birthday, instead of just the normal one year of aging!