For the past week I’ve been marinating in a giant bowl of mixed emotions. Unlike my usual marinade of awesomeness and sheer brilliance, this one was one part sadness and four parts anger, with a little denial for added zest. You see, readers, I’ve been dealing with a tragic loss. The name Ahmed Salah Mohammad Metwally Amer is synonymous with composure, but today I write with a sad, yet pouty and sexy face.
On June 6, 2012, my brightly colored yellow and red bicycle was vandalized and stolen from campus.
The bike, which garnered attention from hordes of lustful women, was a gift from my sister. You see, even earlier in the semester I faced yet another tragic loss when my minivan, Big Red, died on the side of I-40 East. The bike was given with the intent to quell my mental anguish.
Much like the lives of the bike thieves, this story begins with a mistake. At some point between me securing my yellow-and-red lady magnet to the bike rack and returning later that evening to ride it to my apartment, I lost the keys to my U-bolt lock.
It was frustrating to have lost my keys, but being the calm, levelheaded individual that I am, I knew to call campus police for help-or at least that’s what I thought. Apparently the only proof of ownership campus police can accept is a receipt. Let’s face it, who keeps receipts for everything they buy, let alone gifts? My only proof was a time-stamped photo on my phone from earlier in the year, but that wasn’t good enough.
I called campus police several times to speak with different representatives hoping that each one would be more understanding than the one before. After the first few calls, I got the feeling that they were getting a little frustrated with me, so I disguised myself with a fake moustache , but my attempts were in vain. Campus police would not help me get my bike.
Each time I was rushed off of the phone, and that baffled me. What else could campus police be preoccupied with? I made sure to tell them how important I am right off the bat. I always introduce myself by saying “Hi, I’m Ahmed Salah Mohammad Metwally Amer , and I manage one page in a student newspaper.” What kind of world do we live in where the individual isn’t more important than the community?
This ordeal put me in the frustrating position of wanting my bike while being unable to retrieve it myself or prove that it was mine; this left my McDonald’s-themed ride susceptible to theft.
I came to campus the next day to check up on my bicycle, and that’s when I came upon the scene of the heinous crime. The sleek, black frame was bent and twisted beyond repair. The U-bolt no longer physically represented its namesake. And although the thieves were unable to remove the lock and frame, they were apparently determined to leave with something – in this case, the wheels.
To add insult to injury, dangling from the handlebars was a ticket from the University saying that the bicycle appeared to be abandoned and would be surplussed if not retrieved.
Judging from my experience, I think it’s apparent that campus police likes to make little girls cry, in that I cried like a little girl. What if other organizations acted as campus police did? Firefighters would refuse to get family pets from trees. Truckers wouldn’t stop to offer rides to strangers. It’s safe to say that the world would be a sad and chaotic place.
So how do I go about seeking justice? If you’re an avid reader, you’ll recall the foundation I started earlier this year called PONY 2012, a foundation dedicated to providing me with a horse. Since campus police’s unwillingness to help indirectly led to the theft of my bike, I think a fair and equitable remedy would be for them to give me one of the horses I see them riding in the Brickyard, or at least let me ride it once. The ball’s in your court, campus police.
