Originally uploaded by justex07
So, I get a call at 3:30 Wednesday morning from the University Police. Officer Rod Stewart (I kid you not) is on the phone.
“Is this Justin Scott?”
Yes it is.
“Do you own a 1998 Silver Honda Accord?”
Yes I do.
“You need to come down to the Hitt Street Parking Garage, it appears someone has stolen all of your wheels.”
Ugh, vandalized again? I’ll be right down.
My friend Scott, who was crashing on my couch, went down with me to investigate the damage.
They took my tires, my rims and in turn bent my rotors. It’s a big hot mess and the sixth time it has happened since I have moved back to Columbia. At this point I think nothing can surprise me. My car will get the windows knocked out, my doors will be knocked in my basketballs, my door handles will be ripped off, my stuff will get stolen out of it, my bike will be stolen from my apartment, my clothes will be destroyed by deviants in the laundry room, my transmission will go out and so will the brand new one two days into its life.
These are just things I accept now. It’s ok, shit is going to happen and it is going to happen to me, but it no longer gets me down. It is more of something that has become a comical nuance to my life.
I am Justin and I am perpetually screwed.