I SUPPOSE I shouldn't have been surprised, really. Practically everyone I know has had their car stolen at one time or another. Yet, when mine was nicked about a year ago outside Booterstown DART station, I got that horrible sinking feeling of disbelief. "This isn't happening," I said to myself, over and over, as I walked around the car park. "I'm sure I left it in this spot, but maybe I left it somewhere else."
I walked around in circles for a while until my brain accepted my initial diagnosis. There it was GONE, as the saying goes. I had become another Garda statistic.
They went to a lot of trouble taking it. First, they had to break the door lock, then pop the ignition barrel, then smash the crook lock and force the steering lock. It took a lot of determination and ability to do all this. It is a pity that such talent is not being put to better use. If I was locked out of my car I wouldn't know how to break in and certainly not have a clue as to how to start the engine without a key.
Choice of Banger
And why should it have been my 10 year old banger, when all around were hundreds of big shiny 95 registered cars, just asking to be stolen? I duly went through the process of informing the Garda and the insurance company, dictating reg number colour, age, the time I left it there, when I discovered it was gone, etc. That was annoying and frustrating - bringing back the whole incident again.
The garda was very sympathetic. He explained that railway station car parks were a favourite target for thieves. "Did you notice all the broken glass around the place," he asked. Unfortunately, I hadn't noticed anything. I thought I had been lucky to find a vacant spot to park my car. "The detectives drop in there now and again to keep an eye on it, but they can't be there all the time" he added. Then he tried to cheer me up: "it will probably turn up in a few days time ... after they do a bit of joyriding or carry out a few jobs."
More Bad News
I had to explain my experience, blow for blow, to all my friends who had heard about the incident. Yes, bad news travels fast. "Is it true you had your car stolen, Frank?" Then, for the next 20 minutes I have to give chapter and verse. The most annoying bit of news, though, was the insurance company's telling me: "Sorry, no, you are not entitled to hire a car while your own is missing." I thought that very strange, as this particular company advertises itself as simply unbeatable in helping you if you encounter any problems. Like with all insurance companies, it is only when you get into the small print that all is revealed. Foiled again.
During the next few days I became very popular. People wanted to talk to me about stolen cars, relating in minute detail how their cars were stolen, cheerfully adding how they never saw them again, or how they were burnt out or the tyres were slashed, windows broken and the interior filled with syringes. Having the car stolen was one thing, listening to all this was something else. The insurance company couldn't compensate for this mental torture.
One of my best friends really stuck me to the ground when he said: "Frank, I often meant to tell you not to park there. I know a woman who had her car stolen from that park. It was found later in a river." Imagine! He waited for me to have my car stolen before giving me that vital piece of information. Yep, they are the type of friends I have.
Another colleague saw a car identical to mine abandoned up in the Dublin Mountains. This was checked out, but it wasn't mine. There were a few other false alarms. It was an eventful few days. People being so helpful, but yet in their own way adding to the misery.
Help and Hindrance
Still, all is well that ends well. After four days I got the banger back. Indeed, I would have had it back earlier but for the fact that the garda to whom I reported the theft had written down the wrong telephone number and they had spent nearly two days ringing a hotel, which I don't own or live in, trying to report recovery of the vehicle.
I was told that my car was in Sundrive Road Garda Station and that it wasn't too badly damaged. A very helpful garda showed me how to get the engine started because the ignition barrel had been broken. It was ironic, having a garda showing me the tricks of the underworld in order to get me on the road again. He sympathised with me and said wearily: "It's happening all the time."
I spent the next day cleaning out the car and what appeared to be the contents of women's handbags. I then brought it to the garage where I got repairs carried out. I got off light - two hundred pounds light to be exact. It was two hundred I could have spent a thousand different ways, given the choice.
The only thing stolen out of the car was a nice pair of sunglasses.
They were an expensive pair given to me by my son. They were superb for driving in glaring sun. As we don't get too much glaring sun, I have been able to survive without them. Nevertheless, the thoughts of a little Dublin hoodlum strolling down O'Connell Street wearing my nice glasses raises my blood pressure.
Bright Side
On the credit side, all my good jazz tapes were left untouched. A friend of mine joked: "No self respecting car thief would bother with that jungle music." Why do so many people hate jazz? It is nice to see that CIE has since put in a very impressive lighting system in the car park at Booterstown station. It has installed security cameras. It has tarmacadamed it and put in marked spaces. It is a super de luxe car park now. The problem is it's so popular I can't get into it.