So after I checked and triple checked that the oven was off, I hadn't left the ferret cage open, and I hadn't left the back door unlocked, the fridge open, or the water running in the kitchen sink (ah, the "I wonder if I...."s of OCD), I grabbed my coffee and walked to my car. As I approached I noticed a brick and a jaggedy piece of concrete lying in the street. I picked one up and went to toss it on the grass, out of the street, when I noticed the dings in my driver's side door. One of the rocks had hit the window, the other the door directly beneath.
Luckily, the glass in the window hadn't shattered. As I tossed the second chunk of debris onto the grass I wondered who I'd pissed off. I'm not exactly neighborly, but had I actively angered someone? Maybe the chick who always parks in the middle of the street to wait for the girl she gives a ride to every morning that I've honked at at least five times now because god FORBID she pull into the space 10 FEET AHEAD than wait directly in front of the building for several minutes at a time, honking repeatedly for her charge and leaving no room for me or anyone else to pull around? Hmmm...Doubt it. Maybe someone was being funny because of my wiccan license plate? "STONE THE WITCH!!! Hahaha!!!" Maybe.....
I came to the conclusion that my license plate was the cause of the stoning of my vehicle and drove to work vaguely thinking black thoughts directed at self-righteous so-called "good Christians." How many people have been killed and murdered by so called "good Christians" in the name of "RIGHT!"? I thought. How many innocent cars had to be dinged? I fumed and shook my fist at the sky and then put it back on the wheel as soon as I realized that my other fist was holding my coffee and I was now driving 60 MPH on the Edens with no hands on the wheel.
Okay, so they were more grey-ish thoughts. I really wasn't terribly upset. I thank my beloved Pseudopod in keeping me distracted from any potential dark brooding.
I don't care about the dings in my car, though I may have them sealed so they don't end up rusting out my door. I was thankful, though, that my window wasn't shattered. Indeed, the motor in the window has never run smoother!
When I arrived at work, my boss was talking with a couple of coworkers about the damage an elderly woman had caused to her car last week, so I mentioned the incident, and my theory on the "cause" - okay the cause was a fucktard asshole - my theory on the motive, then, that it was my wiccan license plate. As to be expected, my coworkers were horrified (one is on the phone with her son right now relaying the particulars - now the rock weighed over 20 pounds and the brick was aimed at my head as I walked to my car), and were far more concerned than I was. They immediately dismissed the license plate theory. One asked what the stickers on my car read, and I ticked them off, ending with the two Obama stickers.
"Ah." They all said in unison.
Tell me. It was. The license plate.