We’ve
had a problem with key fob play in our house. Okay, a huge problem. At about a
year of age, Riley pressed the panic button on the fob of our burglar alarm.
When the company called to verify that there was in fact, no emergency, I must
have had my phone out of earshot, or on vibrate or silent, and missed the call.
Several minutes later I heard a siren. Then the doorbell rang. It
was the Chicago Police.
I
tried to assure the officer that all was fine.
That
would not do. "I need to come up," said the officer.
I
stood at the door holding Riley. My mother and J sat in the living room.
"Is
everything okay?" asked the officer, peeking in our apartment.
"Oh,
yes, Officer. My son got hold of the fob and pressed the button."
He
wasn't so convinced. He beckoned me into the hallway.
"Everything's okay? You sure? No domestic abuse or anything?"
I
almost laughed. That guy in there?! He won't hit spiders! "Oh gaaahhsh,
no!" I said, hoping the Fargo-esque drawl would make his question all the more
ludicrous.
I
closed the door feeling somewhat encouraged by the officers persistence in
determining if I living with some kind of white collar Mike Tyson. I
wondered what would have happened if I'd said, "Yes, officer. He's a
lunatic! Please help me!"
We
seemed to have a false alarm monthly. Sometimes it was Riley's fault.
Sometimes in juggling a stroller, a toddler, a baby, groceries and bags,
it was mine. Usually I was able to take the call so as to head off the po-po.
The police did show up once again, when the alarm company didn't get to
the cops soon enough. That time, the female robocop only wanted my
address and passwords. She
wouldn't have cared if my husband practiced UFC fighting with me nightly.
Apparently
we've got a few more false alarms before the security company levies a fine on
us.
Since
the car fob doesn’t involve law enforcement, I'd begun to let 19-month-old Aria
play with it. It beeps and we know the car is locked. Or it doesn’t and the car is
open. It's a little noisy, it might annoy passers-by or our neighbors, but
as all parents say at some time, perhaps using more genteel language,
"f--k it."
Two
mornings ago, I received my car-key-fob comeuppance. When I opened the car door
to take Riley to school, my olfactory senses were assaulted by the smell of a
dirty nicotine addict - the smell of someone who smokes too often and washes his clothes too seldom. No one in our household smokes, nor had we transported
any smoker passengers.
Clearly,
someone had been in our car.
Furthermore,
our uninvited guest had left our glove compartment open, revealing our Music
Together and Raffi CD collection. He had looked through our trunk, but
apparently had no use for baby clothes en route to a second home, or
Anthropologie and Calypso dresses circa 2003. Luckily nothing was
missing, including the car itself.
Nonetheless,
I felt violated, not to mention sick at the odor. My nice new car smell -
gone in one night because of some miscreant. I wanted to throw up.
"Someone's
been in our car. It smells gross in here." I told Riley. I
didn't want to alarm him, but I couldn't be stoic.
"What's
that smell? I don't like that smell," he said.
I
tried to keep calm, as I strapped him in and proceeded to drive him to school.
Staying calm was tough - every breath I drew made me nauseated and enraged.
I was shaking.
After
drop off I went to the local health food store to buy some organic room
freshener. It was 9:15. The place was closed until 9:30. I
began making phone calls. Hubby - unavailable. Same for Bestie. So
I called Nicole http://www.momsnewstage.com/2011/10/unthinkable.html.
She talked me down, and told me about some drunk who had slept it off in
a mutual friend’s car, only to try to enter her house! Such was Chicago
these days.
In
typical Hyde Park fashion, at 9:35 the place opened. But by then I
realized that Mr. Nastyperson Smokestench could put lil’ Miss Organic Freshener in a
headlock. This was NOT toddler pee on a mattress. I needed heavy duty,
just shy of toxic, chemicals. Off I went to CVS to buy Lysol and Febreze.
In
the parking lot I doused my car down like a mugger being pepper sprayed.
At
the suggestion of Bestie, whom I eventually talked to, I went to talk the cops. Two of Chicago’s finest
happened to be sitting in their marked SUVS in the parking lot. I felt
silly saying, "Um, someone was in my car last night? They didn't take
anything, but I know they were there, because we don't smoke and my car reeked
of cigarettes. I just thought you should know..."
I
might have sounded like a little white twelve year old, but I did it.
Wasn't
it my right to make the authorities aware of how I - how the car in which I transport my wee babes hither and yon
- had been summarily violated? To shine a light upon the nefarious
inconvenience I had just suffered? To spare others the similar shock of
discovering they’d been the victim of a carsitting?
Indeed
it was.
After
determining that yes, my car might actually have been left unlocked, the
officer who actually gave a crizap informed me that people will go down
the street checking car doors for one that is open. They also told me
that many of the crimes, I think they called it Apple lifting - stealing
laptops, Ipods, Ipads, Iphones etc. - are being perpetrated by kids who look
rather clean cut - wearing skinny jeans, etc., as opposed to the more stereotypical
thuggish look.
He
asked me where I lived said he’d make a note of it and check it out. As if.
Duty
done, I got back into the car only to find Mr. Smokestench still hanging out
with a vengeance. It took several
ferocious hose-downs of the car before I couldn’t SEE him in the passenger
seat.
The
next day, he was finally gone.
Suffering
only a stinky car, we got a free pass on this one. I am now obsessed with locking the car door. And guess who’s now the one indulging
in a key fob free-for-all every time she parks?
(I
hate saying this, but it is sooooo freaking fitting right now…)
This
mom.
