I called the police for the second time in my life today. The first was when my brother and I started the U-Haul drive to the east coast and saw a brush fire on I80 outside of Sacramento. Called 911, was put on hold. When the woman came on the line she didn’t even say hello, just, “Are you calling about the brush fire on 80?” “Yes.” “Crews are on their way. Thank you!” Click. It was brief and to the point. I didn’t mind the briefness because I’m sure they are busy.
This morning, I walked by a car in our complex that was covered. There was broken glass next to it. We’ve had two attempted break ins in the last few weeks, so I pushed the cover to make sure that it was really from their window, wrote down the license plate and called the police. They just called back to tell me that the car isn’t registered to anyone in our complex and that they can’t file a report unless they know that there was actually a break in. However, the officer told me that they caught two guys breaking into a car earlier this morning in the vicinity.
Interesting. I had debated for half an hour this morning about reporting it. I considered all the possibilities and finally decided that I’d want someone to report it if my car had been broken into so that someone might be able to contact me. I’ll ask around the dog owners tonight to see if we know who owns the car.
