To the assbutt that broke into my car tonight

You’re an assbutt.

I’d gone out to my favorite bar. It’s my safe space, where I’m surrounded by my friends – no, my family. I go when I have a bad day for comfort and understanding. I go on good days to celebrate with people who love me.

Michael Noker takes a selfie with a fan.

It’s also where I take selfies with my many loyal fan.

It was a beautiful, warm night. After a rough month, I wanted to enjoy it. So I went out. I gave my friends (and all my many loyal fan) hugs and I watched fabulous performances.

And then the bar’s owner flagged me down.

“So you drive the Charger, right?”

You had shattered my front passenger window and taken my backpack. I was the victim of a smash and grab.

My car had been damaged. My car. The sexy beast I bought a year ago after my divorce to cheer myself up, just to own something nice that was my own and didn’t have his scent all over it. My symbol of my independence, because he was the only man I needed other than myself a la Destiny’s Child.

I would say I don’t understand why he stuck out to you. I would ask why you chose to break into him, rather than any other car in the lot. But I know why. Look at him. 

2010 Dodge Charger RT HEMI V8 Black

His name is Paul (after Paul Wesley), by the way.

You’d taken my wallet.

Know what’s unsettling? When a guy who breaks into cars for a living is running around Albuquerque with your social security card. 

You looked in my center console and left almost everything in there. You took my $5 auxiliary cable, but you left every pair of sunglasses that I own. You judged my taste in sunglasses.

You took my phone charger, but you left my scarf. You judged my fashion sense. What kind of dick move is that? 

I got to experience what it’s like to duct tape trash bags to your car door at 1 AM.

I still have to cancel half my credit cards because the banks weren’t open or were doing system maintenance when I called.

You made a police officer waste his time helping me file a report. It was midnight on a Saturday in Albuquerque. He had so many other things he needed to be doing to protect and serve our community.

As for the contents of my backpack, I hope you enjoy them. I’m now subject to several minor inconveniences:

  • My ideas notebook had several dozen video ideas for my YouTube channel, none of which I can remember because I had written them down. 
  • My planner had my editorial calendar. What am I supposed to film for tomorrow’s video? When is my collaboration with Dory due? NO IDEA. YOU TELL ME.
  • You took my headphones. I am going to be an inconsiderate roommate.
  • I can no longer charge my phone in my car nor at work. I’m going to be that guy whose phone is always dead.
  • You took every method of payment I had, so I hope at least one new credit card gets here before my 1/8th tank of gas runs out!
  • You took my bottle opener. I can’t open beer, nor can I offer that to guests where I work. And you know where I work, because you have my pay stubs and W2s. A guy who breaks into cars for a living knows where I work. 

I’d say that you took my innocence or optimism, but if you read my journal, you’ll get to learn everything I’ve survived over the last several years. It’s private and personal, but go ahead. You earned it.

The thing about surviving is that I’ll survive this, too. I’m still going to be the happy, friendly, loving person that I am. I’ll learn a life lesson. I’ll put in the work to get back to where I was. I’ll be that much better off because I’ll have grown for it.

Because on some beautiful, warm Saturday night in the future, I’ll be taking selfies with friends, family, and my many loyal fan, and you’ll still be the assbutt who breaks into peoples’ cars for a living.

But I also kind of hope a wizard curses you so you shart every time someone says, “Tuesday.” 

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