Yes My Car Is Possessed. But You're A Jerk. And I Can Fix My Car

So I'm snoozing away, minding my own business, when I get a call at 1:53 a.m. from a number I didn't recognize.

"Mr. Clem, this is Officer Miller with the Plymouth Police Department. We are here on the scene at *my address here* where there has been a noise complaint because your car alarm is going on and off all night."

"Ok, I'll be down to take care of it."

My car pisses me off sometimes. Ever since a small leak developed in the seal around my sunroof, anytime it rains, water seems to be collecting in the fuse box area inside the car, which is wreaking havoc with my electrical system.

Sometimes the door locks will just lock and unlock randomly. Sometimes the dome light will just decide it wants to stay on all night, no matter if you have it in the off position. Sometimes a taillight will work, sometimes it won't. And yes, sometimes, the car alarm decides to go off randomly.

I've been meaning to get it fixed, but was somewhat reliant on receiving my tax refund for 2007 and 2009 from the government. Now that that has FINALLY happened, I've got an appointment scheduled for early next week to get it repaired.

But back to the problem at hand. It's 1:58 a.m., and I can't find my flip flops. I knew I left them by the front door, but the kids must have moved them. I wander around in a sleepy haze, trying to find them without turning on the lights. Then I decide I'm just going to shove my stinky feet into my stinky hiking shoes because I really, really, really want to go back to sleep.

As I go out the front door of my apartment building, I notice not one, but TWO squad cars parked next to my vehicle. As I walk closer, one squad car peels away and parks about 25 yards behind, shining his lights on me as I approach the other police car. As I get within 5 feet, the female officer in the squad car looks jolted, and jumps out quickly as if she is preparing for me to launch a vicious attack or something.

I explain to her that I was the owner of the car she had just called, and was going to move my car to the unattached underground parking for the night, where nobody would be able to hear my alarm.

After a lecture about proper car maintenance and telling me I needed to update my DMV address, she moved aside so I could move my car to the underground parking.

And then I saw the notes. Two of them. Stuffed under my windshield wiper on the driver side. I pulled them out and read them. The top one said "RUDE! TOO LOUD!"

The bottom note read "Your Car Alarm is TOO SENSITIVE! It went off all night. I reported this noise pollution to the office. One more night & will report to police."

One more night, my ass.

And let me clarify, oh anonymous note writing neighbor. Despite the rumor to the contrary, not every man thinks of his car as an emotional attachment, or as a means to make up for a lack of height, size, or girth. I don't control my car. I don't like it when the car alarm goes off. So please stop calling me rude for my car's actions.

Secondly, oh note writer, you may want to edit your time frame for calling the cops before you leave it next time.

Thirdly, I'm getting my car fixed next week. When are you going to do something to fix your approach to life and people? Why don't you leave a note on my car to let me know.

xoxox,

Clemmy