By Deborah W. Yoho
“Someone must have seen this happen,” I said out loud, staring at the tiny pellets of automobile glass scattered everywhere. As I opened the car door, more glass fell out of the window frame onto the front seat. That’s when I realized I had been robbed as well as vandalized; my laptop and briefcase were gone.
In broad daylight, in this neighborhood? I ran back into the Cracker Barrel and found the manager. No, no one had reported anything, she said. In sympathy, she dropped everything and waited with me by my violated Saturn SUV until the police arrived.
“We haven’t had a smash-and-grab for six months,” she told the officer.
“How often does this happen?” I shouted at her.
“A lot. But not lately.”
Is that supposed to make me feel better? I know, I know. I shouldn’t have left anything in the car, even though it was locked. “But I was only in there a half hour! And the car is within sight of the front door! At high noon! And look at all the people coming in and out!”
I spent the rest of the day getting the shattered window fixed. Eventually the laptop was replaced. But a week went by before I noticed my most serious loss. The first four chapters of my manuscript, carefully polished after hours of help from my writers’ group were, of course, backed up onto a flash drive.
But the flash drive was in the briefcase.