This September I will have lived in Arizona exactly half of my years on this earth. The first half were spent living in Brooklyn, New York.
I could recite to you times of harrowing adventures including numerous trips to CCNY by Subway, I believe it was 145th St & Amsterdam Ave.
I never took my car, or my wallet for that matter and one time was coming home late in the subway where I was robbed of my $2.50, beaten by 4 "youths" and left for dead on the subway tracks with my hand inches from the "3rd rail." If a transit cop hadn't found me, I most definitely would not be typing this right now.
The reason I tell you this is to help put things into perspective. Before that incident, my most cherished possession was my first car that my dad sold me, a 1968 Buick Wildcat. After "pimping it" out with a factory mag wheels and other goodies, I used to become incensed at the fact that everywhere I went, I could be sure my center caps would be stolen. Used to piss me off to no end.
Somehow after my run in at the train station, it all didn't matter as much. I know this may not help much but you need to step back, take a deep breath and realize there are assholes everywhere you go in this world.
I always like to say that the name and faces may change, but the personalities remain the same. The most important thing to remember is, it's just a car (a special one) and it can always be fixed or replaced.