How can it possibly be a good thing when you’re the victim of a crime?
It’s taken me a couple of days to process the theft of my bike and its toddler trailer — along with two stuffed bunnies — on the sands of Far Rockaway and I’m pretty OK with it now.
On this past Saturday, I took our daughter on a sunny ride down the boardwalk to a remote spot on the beach where it would be almost impossible not to find some social distance. Sadly, we also managed to distance ourselves from a thief who trekked down to the beach and made off with our six-wheels of transportation and our four-legged friends when we were looking at the waves instead of our bike.
After some shock and shame, I called for backup: my wife rode to the rescue and picked us up in our car and took us home. For the rest of weekend, I went through about 70 stages of grief.
In some ways, I blame myself for mistaking a near-deserted urban beach for a desolate stretch of Cape Cod. But don’t we all get a pass when we’re in the middle of pandemic?
No, the lesson stands: crime rests for no one — even if there’s not a big black market for a beat-up hybrid bike and its sandy trailer. Maybe the thief has a penchant for rabbits or maybe, like Plunkitt of Tammany Hall, he saw an opportunity and he took it.
Will New York City survive the coronavirus? As long as someone has the energy and time to steal a bike even though we’re at the epicenter of a global pandemic, the answer is a definitive yes.
Meanwhile, everything is just fine at home as long as our daughter doesn’t ask me about the rabbits.