I was taking my dog — a burly beast with a head the size of a seedless watermelon who alternates between dragging his feet and dragging me — for a walk earlier this week when a neighbor a few streets up mentioned that there’d been several car thefts lately, including one from the alley behind his own home.
“We found it a few blocks away. Some crackhead took it,” he said.
“You’re telling me there’s crackheads around here?” I asked, giving him a wide-eyed stare.
“Huh,” he replied. “Hard to believe, I know.”
Neither the police nor I can confirm that literal crackheads were involved in the thefts, which were detailed in Tuesday’s paper (although, obviously, I first learned about the issue on the mean streets of the extended Edison District).
The Hub City total, according to police, was four 1990s Hondas stolen over the weekend, with two more taken in Chehalis. Hondas from the 1990s are A) regularly cited as one of the most-stolen varieties of cars on the road and B) awesome. (I had one myself, though I’ll spare you the long-winded details of my quixotic adventures in a 1997 Accord EX coupe with a VTEC engine, a rare 5-speed transmission and the most supple leather seats your butt can imagine.)
Luckily, I have a theory as to what’s going on.
One warm summer day an honest young man met a girl and was instantly overwhelmed by that fluttering, helpless desire that only a young man without a car can feel for a girl who wants a ride.
Her unimpressed smirks drove him into a romantic frenzy, and one bright afternoon, stars in his eyes, he walked to the coffee stand where she worked, only to find her leaving with a slightly older boy with an edgy haircut, a markedly smaller capacity for hope and a 1994 Honda Civic.
In a fit of jealous rage our young antihero struck out for the Logan District, where he studied under the great hotwire artists for weeks — weeks! — until he deemed himself ready to recross the Sixth Street viaduct (more dramatic, he correctly supposed, than taking Gold Street directly into downtown) and carry out his master plan.
Working alone he tracked down and pilfered 1990s Hondas, and immediately upon making his getaway with each car patronized the coffee shop. And after every black coffee (“Sugar?” she’d ask. “No thanks,” he’d reply. “I’m sweet enough.”) he dropped whatever change was in that particular cupholder into the tip jar and blew a kiss to his would-be darling before dropping the missing automobile off just a few blocks from where he’d found it.
The pattern continued for days until, as he wheeled to the drive-up window in a particularly clean Accord coupe, the girl for whom he’d longed batted her eyelashes and asked where he was headed in that slick ride.
“Wherever you want to go,” he answered, and with a genuine smirk she stuffed the change from her own tip jar into her purse and climbed into the passenger seat.
The star-crossed lovers made a quick stop for, of all things, a cup of coffee before heading off to their new life together. It was a decision our ill-fated Romeo would ultimately regret, as while he was swimming in the eyes of the object of his affection he failed to see yet another young thief jimmy open the door of what he’d hoped would be his last Honda and drive away with his final piece of mobile evidence.
The romantics walked out into what they assumed was their future, only to find the spell broken and the love dissipating into thin air. The girl scoffed, told a lie about returning to work and was gone, leaving our hero, despite all his ill-advised hard work and fastidious planning, lonely and afoot like so many before him in the Hub City.
So, then, we can pretty much assume it either happened exactly like that, or a few kids who just learned to pop door locks and bump-start Hondas are taking easy marks for quick joyrides and have the good sense not to take any evidence with them.
Signs: Business owners can now purchase motorist informational signs to post along county roads, though whether or not there will be any restrictions on what variety of businesses can purchase the directional signs remains to be seen. A nice series of signs every 10 miles leading drivers to, say, Paradise Video in Centralia or Old Tobey (the pot store) in Chehalis would be a nice roadside introduction to the Twin Cities for Lewis County tourists.
It would also be useful in the mythical east-to-west countywide watering-hole tour, a gauntlet the likes of which has never successfully undertaken — let alone completed. The Board of County Commissioners’ dedication to tourism should pull no punches in bringing revenue to every downtown within county lines!
