Not Just Another Night in Ocean Park

Laurie Cohn

Mirror Contributing Writer

   My friend Jackie's car was recently stolen on my block. Our plans for the beautiful summer night were to have a relaxing walk and light dinner. What we didn't expect was to end the evening at the Santa Monica Police Station.

   The crime happened in Ocean Park, on 3rd at Ashland. Yes, 3rd at Ashland. You know, the neighborhood where a 2-bedroom apartment in a non-luxury building is currently on the market for $2,600. The neighborhood where Wolfgang Puck's patrons spend hundreds for a nouveau meal. The neighborhood where I have always felt safe.

   As usual, there's the parking situation in this part of town. Frankly, I'm glad there's permit parking during the evenings. If there weren't , no local people or visiting friends would ever find a place to park. I warn all my friends, as I did Jackie that day, to honk, or call me when they're leaving their house, so I can bring down my visitor's parking permit.

   Jackie found a nice spot between two cars at the end of my block. She hung the pass on her rear view mirror. This was my brand new 1999-2000 pass, and it was the first time it was being used. We strolled down Ashland to the beach, and continued on with what was to be a fun girls' night out.

   In the 11 o'clock hour I walked her back to the car, both to be polite and to retrieve my parking pass, a treasured possession. Jackie, not exactly sure where she parked, walked past where her car had been. I stopped in front of the apartment on the corner. 'Jackie,' I called out, 'your car was here.' I pointed to the empty spot, a rarity on 3rd Street at that time of night. At first, she wasn't convinced. 'Maybe it's on the next block,' she said. To appease her, I followed, but I knew, unfortunately, the car was gone.

   The thieves were good. Not one piece of glass was on the ground, and no one heard or saw anything suspicious. As we walked back to my place to call the police, a neighbor walked by, and I told him what happened. He thought I was kidding because that sort of thing just doesn't happen in our area. All kinds of autos park on the street, many newer and more expensive than Jackie's.

   At the Police Department, Jackie was told her 1988 Toyota Camry is the hottest car around for stealing. I was struck by how nice, friendly and patient all the officers were. And handsome, too! I mean hunky, dreamy, actor handsome. It's nice living in a community where polite and gorgeous officers are serving and protecting.

   Now that I know how attractive the Santa Monica police force is, I may have to commit a minor infraction, like jaywalking, just to get to talk to a policeman. They really should put out a Police Officers' of Santa Monica Calendar, as I'm sure it would sell well. Maybe they could donate the money to a local charity.

   The probable scenario for Jackie's car, the #1 choice of thieves, was explained. Once stolen and driven to Mexico, it is stripped for parts and never seen whole again. Though everyone at the station was exceedingly kind and tried to sound positive, I realized the chances of her car being found were about as much as George Clooney asking me out for a Saturday night.

   Jackie's spirits were good, and her sense of humor remained intact throughout the entire ordeal. The thought of dealing with the insurance company was more odious to her than the actual theft. As I drove Jackie to her safe north of Wilshire home, we talked about leasing versus buying, and dependable car brands. Her Camry had been a good car for all these years, and she certainly wanted to get something equal in quality.

   This story has a surprise happy ending. Jackie's car was found in Monterey Park. Her roller blades, phone, and library books were stolen, but the car was in good shape, with all its parts. 'Literary rogues,' I told her. She still might get a new car, but because she wants to, not because she has to.

   1988 Camry owners please take precautions, since you might not be as lucky as Jackie. Thank you to all the police officers for a job well done. And, George, if you want to give a call. . .