Anyone want to burn me a mix CD? Not a mix of mp3 files sent to Dropbox but an actual CD?
Let me ‘splain.
About two weeks ago Moira and I woke up around 7am, as per usual, and I started browsing my emails while taking care of her first feeding. In my email was a message with the subject “Your recovered iPod: contact the [local] police.”
Um…okay. Last I knew my iPod was in its normal spot: the glove compartment of the Fit. Notice I’m not calling it a Nano, or an iPod Touch (by the way, that device is not an iTouch, heathens) or iPhone. No, no. I bought it in 2006. It has a clickwheel. I also had my name engraved on the back–my full married name, just for fun, since I was still living in sin without the benefit of a legitimizing document (unless you count a family cell phone plan, which, for the record, I do) and our wedding was some months away.
The body of the email was brief: my iPod had been recovered and was being held in conjunction with “an incident”. The police officer on the case Googled my full name, came up with my email address, and contacted me. The email was timestamped 6:38am–less than 20 minutes prior to my wakeup. Interesting. I got the girls settled and went out to check the car. Sure enough, all of the doors were ajar and the car had been rifled through. For those of you who are familiar with The Seven Habits of Highly Effective People, this had just become a Quadrant 1 Priority Day.
Back to the email. Not only had my property been stolen, but the perpetrator had been arrested, the iPod recovered, and a notification sent to me before I had even known the crime had occurred.
And they say customer service is dead.
In addition, they sent a “bobby on a bike” (neighborhood bike officer) around to take my details and give me information on going to the station to give a statement. The only issue is that he came around 11:45am, which he could not have known was a terrible time for a Tuesday so it wasn’t his fault, but that’s normally the time I’m trying to cajole Maggie into using the facilities one last time before lunch and preschool at 1pm. Normally this requires stories and shameless begging. I was halfway through shameless begging when the doorbell rang so I left Margaret upstairs while I spoke to the officer.
You know, Maggie has been making wonderful advances with her social development. So much so that she hardly blinked before she came downstairs stark naked and yelled “PANTS OFF DANCE OFF!” to the shocked police officer…and did a little tapdance.
I blinked a few times and pretended it didn’t happen. It’s all part of my “Mother of the Year” campaign.
Everyone got out the door at the prescribed time and Moira and I went off to the station. It is a sin and a shame, but I find that I am constantly waiting for people (pickups for Tom’s work, waiting in the car while he runs errands, etc.) and I never have my spanky new Kindle with me. This was no exception, so I spent 45 minutes reading UK “drink-driving” penalty brochures and waiting for my detective.
The detective came around and had a bag of property obtained from the criminal upon his arrest. She went through the list and I’m sorry to say that aside from a point-and-shoot digital camera, my six-year-old iPod was easily the most valuable item in the haul and because it was engraved with my name, we are thus far the only ones able to press formal charges. I will say that the next most valuable item on the list was a copy of “The Batman Chronicles” and a “faux-leather sunglass holder.” You can’t make this crap up, y’all.
At any rate, I have learned a very important lesson (I, um, forgot to lock the car after my errands so it was wide open; luckily I hadn’t forgotten the diaper bag with my wallet in it) about caring for one’s personal property. Unfortunately my iPod and connector cable (he was kind enough to leave the charger in the plug, which, huh?) are still in the evidence locker until further notice. I really missed it on our road trip to Stonehenge, but such is my punishment.
So…who wants to send me a CD?