By Aubrey Prince
This past weekend someone borrowed my car stereo.
I don''t remember telling anyone that it would be OK for him or her to borrow it, but I must have just forgotten that I told them they could come by and take it out of my car anytime between 1 a.m. and 3 p.m. this past Thursday.
What I feel worst about is that since it''s Provo, I''m sure they assumed I would leave my car doors unlocked for them. They must have needed that stereo right then because they had to smash my passenger window to get to it.
They were obviously in a hurry because they left behind all my CDs that have worked so well with my car stereo.
Or they just realized that all my CDs are burned, because I had to start my CD collection over when someone else 'borrowed' my CDs out of the Helaman Halls parking lot my freshman year at BYU.
This has been especially frustrating for me, since for the past 13 years I have lived in the Washington, D.C., metro area. I have parked my car in the city countless times and have managed to escape the city with the second highest crime rate in the nation without ever being victimized. However, in the past three years I''ve lived in Provo, I have been the victim of a random act of crime twice now.
Sure, insurance is going to replace the stereo and has already replaced my window. I suppose the worst part about this is that it''s inconvenient. I had to give up a Saturday to have the window repaired and, at least for a while, there is no music in my car.
The only consolation I get out of the whole situation is that someone, other than my self, is now the proud owner of the most complicated stereo system ever created. I never could figure out how to set my clock and it was always about one hour, seven minutes fast.
I still hadn''t mastered setting radio stations to memory, and don''t even think about scanning through the radio stations. It''s not going to happen. And whoever borrowed the stereo forgot to take along the stereo remote control that was in the glove box.
So, if you happen to be in a car with someone whose clock seems abnormally ahead of time, and you see him or her struggling to find the radio station they want to listen to, you might want to suggest they come back and grab the
remote. It''s in the glove box with the instruction manual.
This time I''ll leave the doors unlocked. After all, I live in Provo.