There's something very breezy about cruising around in a car with a shattered window.
That's what I've come to realize after spending some time in the heart of the Queen City. A vandal/burglar decided to get up-close and personal with my rear, driver side door. The criminal smashed my vent window (which is what they call the little window in the door, not the one that rolls down. It's venting abilities matter not) right when I was revelling at a friend's birthday party.
One of my friends arrived late and had the misfortune of warning me about the incident.
This evil doer could be an anti Big Blue person as the window featured my University of Kentucky alumni association sticker. Thank goodness I have a big UK sticker on my back windshield, although I guess that could make my rear a moving target.
The kicker is, the bastard didn't even steal my stuff. They found the faceplate to my CD player in it's regular hiding place, but they opted not to take it, nor anything else in my car. I tend to believe they were hoping I had something good beneath a beach blanket I had in the back seat.
My dad says, "Kate. What does that mean when they don't want any of your stuff? It it all junk?"
I suppose so, Dad.
I got a couple cuts and scrapes trying to clean up the broken glass in my back seat, but it doesn't hurt nearly as much as the price tag to fix the glass. $135 bucks, right when I'm about to buy a plane ticket to Vegas.
Oh well. I'll just have to buckle down these next two weeks and steer clear of the shoe store.