Saturday September 15. 2001
Written to the list, 3:28 pm.
If it were not for the events of the past week, I would probably a puddle of
goo right now. But watching the news ad nauseum, seeing all the grieving
people across the country made me realize that things are just things. They
can be replaced. Even cars.
So, yes. My car is gone. Mom came down yesterday afternoon, and when we went
out to get some groceries, I cast a glance in the direction of where Bessie had been
parked (not 50 feet from my apartment) and she just wasn't there. Called the
police. They said there had been a rash of Neons stolen in recent weeks,
apparently they're extremely easy to break into and start up with a
screwdriver. People steal them to go joyriding (a neon? We're not exactly
talking a powerful car here) and then dump them nearby. The officer said
there was a good chance I would get it back, but I'm not holding out any
I didn't put the club on Friday night. The one day I was just too tired and
couldn't be bothered, and now I have no car. I'm pissed mostly about the
things I had IN the car - namely, some school papers and notes, plastic I
had just bought, the table frame for my new coffeetable and a 5 disc CD
changer that was in the trunk.
Yesterday was surreal. I'll write more when I'm up to it.
As it turned out, my insurance covers a rental car for up to sixty days in the event of a stolen car. But at six o'clock on a Saturday evening, there was no rental places open except at the airport. And they, in accordance with recent events, hadn't been exactly bustling with business. And my mom and I found ourselves on the train downtown to pick up a car. It's been a long time since I've ridden the regional rail - a year at least. I sat at the Melrose Park station waiting for the train, in the pre-fall chill, listening to the crackle of wires above me.
The train ride took only about forty minutes. The sun was setting as we crossed the Schuykill into 30th Street Station. Through the tinted windows of the car, the whole city seemed to bathed in a sad blue. The west faces of all the buildings were a shocking white from the setting sun. Everything seemed just very very quiet and very very sad. A city settled into a slumber of mourning.
The airport, which was now open, was quiet as well. The sun had nearly set by then. I had never been to the Philly airport before and it was a mind-bogglingly huge labyrinth of terminals, tracks, and parking garages. We found the shuttle to take us to Avis, and then got our white Chevy Lumina and drove home on 95. The four lane highway was nearly deserted, and as we drove towards Center City, I spotted several skyscrapers and the Ben Franklin bridge studded with Red, White and Blue lights. It was breathtakingly beautiful, and a strange acknowledgement that nothing will ever be the same, anywhere.
One Year Ago:
"I had forgotten that it's a national company, with 2359873245097 bookstores in 49 states."
Two Years Ago:
"For all those of you who say art school can't possibly be hard work, I have two words: fuck you."