Q

Home » Work » My car was stolen – and this is my Police Report

My car was stolen – and this is my Police Report

Enter your email address to follow this blog and receive notifications of new posts by email.

Join 45 other followers

In November of 2011, I was moving from Phoenix, Arizona USA to somewhere in San Diego, Ca, when I decided to stop by the border town of Calexico and pop over to Mexicali.

I parked alongside the border at 2340 N Imperial Ave Calexico, CA 92231, and walked across the border at about mid afternoon.

The next memories I really have of the day are about 8pm, and all I can remember was spotty memories of being hit.

To say I was confused was an understatement, and as I stumbled around – with only a tshirt and shorts on – my shoes had been taken, my wallet, heck even my belt – everything had been taken…

This included my fairly new Lexus RX450h (in the picture below) and I had all my personal belongings in that car. A passport. My ID. About 1000 games and pc programs for the computer, xbox 360 and playstation 3. All my clothes. Four computers. And more. 

Basically everything I owned.

MeAndCar2

So after I’d been hit – I stumbled to the wrong car, the knock to my head had me so confused I couldn’t figure out where my car was nor that I had even had it stolen to begin with.

At which point the driver of that car – who was inside the convenience store in that parking lot – ran out – and yanked off the door handle of his car and proceeded to hit me to get me out of his car – so I ran and hid in the bushes.

After getting hit before and not really remembering it fully – I was mortified.

It was then that the police were called – and they found me – and I was face down, hands to my back – where they yelled and yelled – and then, when I didn’t turn over, despite my hands being behind my back – they still tazed me.

Now they claimed they’d only tazed me once.

To me I felt 3 distinctive firings from different angles, as I screamed for them to stop.

To which  point finally, an officer nailed me with a blow to the head with his knee – pinning my head to the ground.

Where I have memories of feeling like he’d crushed my skull and my brains had squished out of my head.

But finally, they cuffed.me.

Now when the ambulance arrived, my memories were spotty at best and all I could remember at that time was – my car was nearby. I didn’t clearly remember the theft, just that it was supposed to be where I left it which was right there.

Now I clearly had injuries on my face, on my head, my knees, my wrists – on many parts of my body – and the officers asked how I obtained the injuries.

I didn’t remember.

So they asked me the weirdest question ever.

Do you want to go to the hospital or the police station.

Now I assumed a trip to the police station meant I’d go straight to jail for trying to get into this guy I didn’t even know’s car. And while I knew I needed to report my car stolen, I knew I needed my injuries looked after to first.

So they kept the cuffs on, I was under arrest, and they took me to the hospital.

Now mind you – they NEVER read me my Miranda Rights. At least that I can remember.

We arrived at the hospital, and they asked how I got so scuffed up – the injuries didn’t match what had happened.

I still didn’t remember the extent of the injuries.

And for some reason I had the numbers 2341 going through my head. I didn’t know why.

It was about then – I heard one of the officers say to another… He’s a 23.

For some reason, this scared the shit out of me. I wanted to be a 14 and I didn’t know why…

In any case, the officers took me to the Calexico jail, it was WAY out of the way.

To me. It felt like hell. In fact, I was hotter than hell in the cell they put me in alone. i was suffocating, and I could swear that I was in the furnace of hell or something there. So I kept buzzing on the ‘buzzer’ in the cell – to get the officer’s attention – I was asking for someplace a little cooler, and they kept telling me – bug off.

What the hell was going on was beyond me.

My head was doing loops. I wasn’t thinking straight that’s for sure.

And it was about then – they finally came to get me. And switched me to a different cell block.

But things.. weren’t normal.

One guy – named Gabriel – seemed like a man straight out of the discussions I’d heard of the devil and the bible. He had these things he clicked together that made a loud clacking noise, that actually caused intense pain inside my head.

It felt like things were going on around me I couldn’t see. The ground shook behind me and I had visions that someone had put a holographic suit on me making me appear to be an attractive nude woman – and that I had been thrown in hell and I was being brutally raped – people kept crossing behind me like I was meat – and I couldn’t see a damn thing.

Then something happened, where everyone simultaneously stopped, and all the hispanics looked up – and I had ‘visions’ inside my head that they had seen me die – and I floated up out of the body I was in and an angel appeared.

They all went running into a single cell and started chanting bible verses.

Not a single one could look me in the eye.

It was the most bizarre thing ever.

My head was still spinning for 3 days after that hit.

At which time it felt like the world was calming down around me.

It was then I tried to ask the police to report my car stolen. I had a semblance of memories back by then.

They refused. And indicated I’d have to wait until I was out.

My ‘court date’ was set for 2 days. and mind you I have not had my rights read, so I sat on my thumbs and did nothing.

They don’t give you a lot to do in jail. New papers. And tv has nothing but wrestling or something brutal.

Great system for reform, right?

I appeared at court, and it was a quick in and out. They refused to release me, i was going to plead not guilty, so I asked for a court appointed lawyer.

In any case, I’d tried to call the ONLY number I had memorized – Kena (aka Sukruti) Patel – but she didn’t answer. I dont have anyone to get ahold of and since I dont have any numbers memorized, I can’t even so much as contact any friends anymore. So I figure – I am fucked.

That’s why I abandoned cell phones by the way.

3 days later, 8 days since I’ve been in jail, The Court appointed lawyer, who’s all chummy with the prosecutor – starts to talk to me. I tell him what happened, and his attitude was ‘yeah right’, like he not only didn’t believe I was innocent, but also just didn’t care.

We went to the courtroom – and I looked and saw my mom and my brother out there.

My mom heard me say ‘Thank God’.

In any case, this was my first ‘offense’ which they were willing to overlook, but I would have to pay the man who I tried taking his car $100 – from what he claimed he had in his cupholder.

I asked the judge “You searched me – I had no wallet, no nothing. First off, who the hell keeps $100 in a cupholder, and second, if I took it, where do you think it is”

He looked at me irately, and said “I can always put you back in”

To me, 8 days in jail was like hell.

Paying this ignorant liar $100 or staying inside – to me it really wasn’t a decision to be made.

I was released at about 3:30, a little too late to make  it to the DMV to report my car stolen – so my mom and Jason and I went to the hotel that my ex girlfriend – Kena Patel had told us about would help us out and cut us a deal at a friend’s hotel in the area.

Apparently, Kena knew the owner. But Kena’s fucked up idea of helping us was just putting money in her friend’s pocket rather than another hotel’s pocket.

Yeah, Kena, thank you for the help on that one. Not.

That evening we searched high and low for my car before going to bed. It wasn’t anywhere to be found. And the police refused to take a report unless I did it at the Highway Patrol during business hours. They closed at 4. We were too late.

We had to wake up bright and early the next day to get to the airport in time, so we dropped by the police, and they weren’t open until 9. It was 7:30 and we had to be to the airport.

So I said ‘screw this, I will call it in from Portland, ‘ where we were heading and where my mom had bought a ticket for me to recover at.

So on arrival back in Portland, the California highway Patrol insisted I had to be in person to file the report.  They offer for me to take a courtesy report, but I do it at the local police department instead.

Now I had a storage unit still full in Charlotte, North Carolina. But at this point I have NO money to pay my bills, so I am threatened with a loss of my household belongings too – which included an extensive comic book collection, furniture, and more.

And my insurance company refused to accept a claim without a formal police report.

Now I’d already tried committing suicide 3x by this point. I’m not happy with my life as it is.

And here I have fodder.

So I said fuck it. I dont fucking care anymore. I didn’t even report it.

Not worth my time anymore, material things apparently aren’t going to get me anything in this life or any  others.

But now…

I’m trying to pick up my pieces after all this.

I have no friends anymore. Everyone who I thought was a friend – Bill Stokes, Jeff Kleinman, Spencer Anglin, Kevin OReilly, Kena Patel – and more – have all completely refused to open up conversation with me at all. It’s weird. Like I’m a leper now.

Sure, I had a drug problem at the time. I had moved to Charlotte to escape that problem and found Bath Salts – a legal – AT THE TIME – stimulant drug – which clearly exacerbated my recovery from years of cocaine abuse I had kept under wraps in Phoenix.

But last night, I woke up in the middle of the night, and actually remembered for the first time being hit and seeing the man’s face.

The face isn’t enough to do a sketch, mind you, my memory is still spotty, I just remember the lead pipe he hit me with, and that the man was clearly hispanic, and nothing more.

Now I am tired of living on the streets. And truth be told, I was absolutely miserable working in Information Technology when this all happened anyways, so whether or not I worked for the government or did what I did for a living is irrelevant. The fact of the matter is – I spent 30 years in Information Technology, and nothing to show for it.

Now why am I writing this down?

A couple reasons. The first is – to thank the friends for being there and questioning what was happening in and around me. Your support in that time period and since then is… well non existent and demonstrates my potential naivety in understanding the nature of why our relationship was there. After all, for the most part it was always me initiating the contact and making the attempts to keep in touch with you all…. wasn’t it?

Not that that should make you feel bad. I’d not expect that at this point, it would just have been nice to have someone ask about me for a change, that’s all, which in hindsight, I’ve realized – well that never did happen to begin with, did it?

Am I bitter. Heck yeah, now that I am getting the memories back about what happened.

In any case, the second reason is – about two months ago, I applied for a California State ID card, and paid $24 for that, and had it sent to the California State aid location. At the time, they indicated I had a ticket and my license was suspended.

The ticket’s date: 2 weeks after my car was stolen. Issued from a photo camera in Calexico no less.

Now at the time, I was just ‘writing’ this all off. I just wanted the state ID to satisfy the requirements to get my state aid in so I could have food.

But the state id NEVER arrived. I had also sent $6 to get my FAA pilot’s license sent to me too, so I could show people I wasn’t a complete loser on the streets and that  I had a pilot’s license…. THAT was never received either. Nor was my Social Security Card I ordered.

So I changed my shipping address to the post office instead. Enough’s enough with unreliable mail delivery. I NOW have MAD respect for Men In Black – demonstrating the ‘aliens’ working there – and how they are probably MUCH more reliable than humans are in delivering and receiving mail.

That was a joke. Kind of. 

Two weeks ago, I applied for a free cell phone, supplied by the state of California.

I was denied. Bad credit. Apparently my credit score is a 9.

How it plummeted from the 540 I worked my ass of to obtain to 9 is beyond me. but apparently someone’s having a field day with my name.

But this all didn’t make a lick of sense.

Why am I getting denied for a FREE phone. WHY are they doing a credit check to begin with. Not only could this HELP me get a job. Which I dont want anyways. But this could also HELP me keep in contact with some people like my family.

Friends? Aint gonna happen, right?

A couple days later, I talked to a police officer on the street.

Who tells me I have to go in to file a courtesy report.

So today, I walk to the police office – and figure it’s time to file a courtesy police report and work to repair that credit, and maybe find out who took my damned car and my damned stuff.

Maybe I might be able to find a little compensation in this nightmare of a life I’m having.

Now to me it seems like I’ve been punished, and punished and punished for spending 30 years of my life busting ass in Information Technology and trying to be the good guy.

So the officer looks at me today and says ‘Yes, we have record of your ticket. You can pay that ticket to get it off your record, or you can get me the VIN (Vehicle Identification Number), because the car’s license plate isn’t coming up.’

To make a long story short.

My wheel fell off my roller bag.

Robin Williams died.

I’m  broke, homeless, and on the street with barely enough in my pocket from state aid to feed me. Who tells me I have to pay someone else’s ticket and fine in order to get my license.

This after 30 years of busting my ass for my government.

You know.

Fuck this all.

I’m giving up. I’m done with trying to get work. I’m done with trying to be an air quote ‘productive’ member of society with a mountain of rules that are this fucked up that seem to reward the corrupt and punish the explorers.

No, I;m not trying suicide again.

I’ve already tried that and failed, on three separate occasions, and have come to accept that I’m immortal. I mean, what makes more sense at this point, to start painting life into a fantasy fiction corner so I can paint a prettier picture? Or to accept this bullshit and continue ‘working’ for the sake of working?

Why torture myself further, ya know?

As a final aside.

Rest in Peace, Robin Williams.

I can’t help but think you are one lucky bastard who found an escape hatch.


Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

Enter your email address to follow this blog and receive notifications of new posts by email.