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Shattering some Whistler illusions



We locked our front door for the first time last week.

As soon as the key turned in the lock, that small town Whistler feeling disappeared instantly.

About five minutes earlier we had struggled to the car, barely awake, coffee in hand, only to discover that somebody had been there before us.

In the middle on the night while we were sound asleep, somebody was rifling through our belongings in the car, as it stood parked in our driveway. That’s a creepy thing to think about.

Rather than simply steal our CDs, the only things of value in the car, these thieves were of the more uncivilized type.

Papers were scattered across the front seats. They jabbed a pen into the armrest, leaving a hole in the plastic. They put another hole in the dashboard above the stereo, which looked as though it was in the process of being removed. They stole the cell phone charger.

Worst of all though, they broke CDs and left the pieces lying around the car.

I admit my taste in music can be a little questionable at times. But is that any reason to break a Neil Diamond CD?

It reminded me of a time when I was about 10-years-old and living in Scotland.

While out shopping in Glasgow, my parents’ car was broken into.

The thieves went through every single cassette (I think we had upgraded from the eight track by then) and left them in the car in complete disgust.

Believe it or not, Englebert Humperdinck, and Johnny Mathis didn’t appeal to your typical Glaswegian hoodlum in the mid-80s. I don’t think those artists had much street value at the time.

I remember being absolutely mortified that my parents’ musical taste was so bad that their tapes weren’t even worth stealing.

Now almost 20 years later nothing much has changed. It’s another worrying reminder that I’m slowly morphing into my parents, Johnny Mathis aside. But as disappointed as I’m sure those thieves in Scotland must have been, they never destroyed anything and that’s saying something for a Glaswegian hoodlum at that time.

Our thieves weren’t as thoughtful.

It was only two months ago when I scoffed and mocked our city fiends coming up to Whistler for the night and securing the Club into place in our driveway.

"This is Whistler, for crying out loud. You’re not in the Big City anymore, you’re in Emerald. There’s no need for the Club up here. You have a better chance of being eaten by a bear than having your car broken into."

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