James Lileks: What I learned being carjacked

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On a lovely sunny Tuesday in July, I got carjacked. You’re probably wondering when and where. Everyone wants to hear “3 a.m., at the intersection of Crime Street and Felon Avenue,” because, well, c’mon, guy, that’s kinda on you. But no. Southwest Minneapolis, by the creek, in my driveway, at 1:49 p.m.

Here are six things I learned.

1) Hey, I’m an idiot. I was dragged down the street by my car, which was a consequence of my decision to hang on to the door frame and punch the driver until he rethought the trajectory of his life. This was unsuccessful. I finally let go, did a few barrel rolls, and watched my glasses fly up in the air, twirling like a trapeze artist. Within 40 seconds I had lost a car, some skin in five locations and a tablespoon of blood. On the other hand, I was really impressed with my car’s acceleration. Better pick-up than I’d thought.

Of course you spring to your feet and get out your phone to call the cops — alas, it was in the car, along with my laptop. But no change in the cup holders! Hah. No bonus largesse for these guys.

2) You may, to your surprise, quote the former governor of Minnesota. After the event I ran inside to use my wife’s phone for 911, since mine was now hurtling away in the possession of a weed-reeking miscreant. My wife wanted to stanch the blood, but I was tracking my stolen devices on my computer, and I’m pretty sure I quoted Jesse Ventura’s iconic line from the movie “Predator”: “I don’t have time to bleed.”

Jesse actually said “I ain’t got time to bleed,” but I am not the kind of fellow who can pull off “ain’t” with any authenticity. I may actually have said “Given the pressing needs of the situation, I am hard-pressed to find the time to concern myself with exsanguination,” in a faintly bored, amused way. I’d like to think I did.

3) The police don’t do exactly what you want, which is to call in a full strike package with air support and cops at every highway ramp with stop sticks. They showed up quite quickly, which I appreciated. I related the details, described the carjacker with more detail than I could describe my car. “Color?” the nice lady cop said. Well, that’s the thing, it’s one of those modern hues that’s blue-green in one light, and green-blue when the sun strikes it just so. The trademark name is Nordic Forest but I don’t suppose you can put that out on a BOLO.

4) Good things can happen, faster than you think. The thieves threw out my phone and my laptop and AirPods, since these items can be tracked. Less than an hour after the robbery, a nice guy knocks on the gate and holds up my backpack. He’d seen it on Kings Highway, picked it up, found a letter with my address. I was ecstatic, and pumped his hand like a politician. He said he’d been a Boy Scout once, and you never lose the imperative to do a good deed if you can. I would, for a day, put that man on the state seal, because he was an absolute Minnesotan.

Likewise, people I met while I was searching for my AirPods (the buds and case were scattered in three locations, for extra evil) were immensely sympathetic once I explained why I was on their boulevard, looking in the gutter. And everyone had their own crime story. If you mentioned, sardonically, that the crooks were surely found, convicted and sentenced to break hard rocks in the hot sun, you got an earful of frustration. People are sick of looking in their rearview mirror when they put the car in the garage, and they have little faith anything will change.

The car turned up two days later, which leads me to another revelation:

5) The impound lot staff has a rhino hide when it comes to the public, and you can’t blame them. Everyone who comes in is mad. But it’s not as if the impound staff stole your car. It’s not as if they made you park under the sign that said “No Parking.” Smile and be nice, and they will be nice in return. (Eventually.) I wasn’t pleased that I had to pay to get my property back. When I sighed about the bill, the lady behind the counter did not say “I share your sense of injustice. In this fallen world where so many slights are sloughed off by an indifferent government, I’m going to take a stand. I am waiving that fee.”

I mean, maybe she could’ve said it, if I’d brought doughnuts, but I don’t think so.

6) There is a moment when it’s over, but it’s not. After the carjacking I was not traumatized, because my adrenal glands were doing a fair impression of a busted water main, but the next day I felt wary, mad and somewhat vulnerable. When I got in the car in the impound lot, I discovered the final affront: The jerk had adjusted the seat position. Insult to injury. The car had a faint whiff of the skunky smokable soporific that had wafted off the thief when I was being dragged. The car, for a moment, seemed to belong to him. Maybe it always would.

But I put the seat back in the proper position and plugged in my phone, and my favorite podcast played. No, they didn’t win. This is my car and this is my city and I’m not. Going. Anywhere.

Because I was still in park! Then I shifted to drive, and took my baby home.

James Lileks was a Star Tribune columnist from 1997 to 2024. His column can be found today at jameslileks.substack.com.