An Open Letter To The Person Or Persons Who Stole My Catalytic Converter

The other day I finished my work shift and headed out to the parking lot to drive home. When I started my Nissan Frontier truck, there was a gawdawful sound like a fleet of skull and human skin adorned vehicles straight out of The Road Warrior.

I half expected a roving gang of mohawked Australian marauders to go roaring past clad in leather bondage gear and firing shotguns in the air and shooting flames out of their tail pipes.

Thankfully Lord Humungus did not show up with his bullhorn and I was forced to come to the quick conclusion that it was my vehicle and that there was something seriously wrong with it.

Not being a professional victim of criminal acts, I (as Sarasota’s Finest later informed me) “left the scene and altered the evidence” by making an all-for-nothing beeline to my mechanic. I did notice two weird connecting pieces when I backed out and threw them quickly on to the passenger seat.

I could not go over 20 miles an hour without sounding like a Norwegian Black Metal band during a soundcheck.

I was informed the next day that I had been fleeced of my catalytic converter. A quick search on the interwebs provided a wealth of information.

1. Stolen catalytic converters sell for $40-$200 each.
2. They can cost upwards of $1000 to replace.
3. The crime takes about 1-3 minutes.
4. Trucks and vehicles with “high clearance” are vulnerable.
5. The three rare metals in cc’s are platinum, palladium, and rhodium.

I’ve heard that this crime is usually done in teams owing to the need for lookouts, so, from here on I will refer to you fellows as “you”.

Well, I guess the first thing I’d like to say is that you would think I would be angry. I’m not. You would think I would want revenge. I don’t.

Let me elaborate. I am by no means a wealthy person and the $500 + bill was painful, although not the worst case scenario that I was expecting. My wife and I decided early on to build a good relationship with a trusted mechanic and the wonderful people at Beiler’s Auto Repair have treated us fairly for our years of loyal patronage. The cost of the catalytic converter, including welding to deter future theft, was only about $350. The other part of the bill was due to an extremely bald tire that I was unaware of. There is a possibility that if you had not stolen the part that I might not have caught the tire situation in time and had an accident. My vehicle is actually safer now as a result.

As I said before, we are not wealthy. We work hard for our money and struggle to stay ahead of the bills. There are people worse off than us. If you had stolen that part from a single mother who was on the verge of financial collapse, the result could have been devastating. In some weird way I think to myself that I am glad that you chose me and not them. I have been below the poverty line at various points in my life and I would not wish further harm on those that are there now.

I am told that you picked my truck because the “high clearance” made it easy to get under it. By the way, I am also grateful that you unbolted it rather than using a cordless hacksaw which can greatly increase the cost of the repair.

Let me tell you a bit about my truck.

That person in the middle is me. To the right is my father. On my left is my grandfather. His name was Neal. This is the last time I saw him alive. My dad was leaving Sarasota to go back to Arizona, mainly to spend time with his father whose heart was beginning to fail. I stayed behind.

The truck belonged to my grandfather.

I called him “Papa” or “Pops”.

When he died I received his truck. I had to go to Arizona to get it and drove it all the way back to Sarasota.

We have driven that truck all over. On vacations. For work. Tooling around town. Somehow, in my heart, I feel like as long as that truck is still running, my grandfather is still with me.

I am also not angry, because you caught me at a particular time of my life filled with philosophy and reflection. In my younger years I was angry about a lot of things and I did not suffer those who would tread upon me. I am able to see things that I could not before.

My mother died this year.

We did not have the type of relationship I would have wanted, particularly at the end. I wish that it had been different, but it wasn’t and that’s the way it is and the way it will always be. Nothing to be done about it. While she was… the way she was, I could not have the type of relationship with my brother that I wanted to. Now I do and nothing will take that away from me. He is a great brother. To have weathered such burdens and yet still be filled with kindness and generosity and genuine decency are traits that I admire and aspire to.

I have a love in my life. My wife has the amazing ability to make me want to be the best person I can be just by being herself. I count myself lucky that we met on that particular day in the Barnes & Noble cafe. My life has never been the same. I have committed to my dreams. I have followed my heart.

She is the Cloak to my Dagger.

She is the light in the darkness that calls me home from the far distant country of my melancholies. Words fail me. How do I convey to you what it is to love and be loved in such a profound way?

Maybe, the best way to say it is that a love like that, the kind she and I share, is enough to keep you from doing what you did because you would not want to put harm into a world that would bestow upon you the responsibility of being a caretaker to such a priceless and immeasurable gift.

I hope with all my heart that you will understand this someday.

That you will turn left when every force in your life is forcing you to go right.

That love will touch you with such awesome luminosity that the dark forces will shrink from it.

That you will contribute good to this world by doing the hardest thing which we as humans are ever tasked with - to look deeply within ourselves and change course.