Something I haven't posted about, strangely. Something that happened when we first arrived in Manassas. We'd driven over 2,000 miles in a gigantic, 26 foot Penske truck pulling an auto-transport trailer. The truck was a monstrosity, sat as tall as many of the 18 wheeler cabs--we could look straight over and into the truckers' lairs. Don't mistake me, it was a great truck, and we were really happy with the service we got from Penske.
Until we turned in the truck, that is.
When we rolled into Manassas on September 7th, we were still in possession of our Fuji digital camera. It was in its nice case, with spare rechargeable batteries, a few memory cards, and a micro-SD card that goes with Sean's fancy RC airplane camera. These cards were loaded with photos from Sean's first ghost town visit (Metropolis, in Nevada), his airshow shots and videos (from Wendover Air Show), and hundreds of pictures of the drive cross country.
We were busy. We were unloading the truck, cleaning it, and getting it turned in all on the same day we arrived at our new home. Oh, this was during the huge tropical storm, of course, so the rain was amazing. Breathtaking. And a little scary.
It took us a couple of days to realize that the camera was missing. We turned the new place upside down, searching for it. When we finally reached the sad conclusion that the camera was gone, we headed over to Home Depot, which is where we turned in the truck. The "gentleman" there was dismissive and almost disdainful, seemed supremely uninterested in our loss. Glanced under the counter, said "it's not here," and that was it. No offer of a claim form, no questions, not an iota of sympathy.
We don't know if the camera was in the truck. We don't even necessarily want the camera back--we replaced it with a better camera. But those pictures? Those memories? Who steals those? It's like stealing photo albums or yearbooks. Who does that?
If you know anyone in the Prince William County area who suddenly popped up with a nice new Fuji digital with zoom and a bunch of filled-up memory cards? Send us the cards, wouldja? Keep the camera, but give us back our memories.
Please.
Until we turned in the truck, that is.
When we rolled into Manassas on September 7th, we were still in possession of our Fuji digital camera. It was in its nice case, with spare rechargeable batteries, a few memory cards, and a micro-SD card that goes with Sean's fancy RC airplane camera. These cards were loaded with photos from Sean's first ghost town visit (Metropolis, in Nevada), his airshow shots and videos (from Wendover Air Show), and hundreds of pictures of the drive cross country.
We were busy. We were unloading the truck, cleaning it, and getting it turned in all on the same day we arrived at our new home. Oh, this was during the huge tropical storm, of course, so the rain was amazing. Breathtaking. And a little scary.
It took us a couple of days to realize that the camera was missing. We turned the new place upside down, searching for it. When we finally reached the sad conclusion that the camera was gone, we headed over to Home Depot, which is where we turned in the truck. The "gentleman" there was dismissive and almost disdainful, seemed supremely uninterested in our loss. Glanced under the counter, said "it's not here," and that was it. No offer of a claim form, no questions, not an iota of sympathy.
We don't know if the camera was in the truck. We don't even necessarily want the camera back--we replaced it with a better camera. But those pictures? Those memories? Who steals those? It's like stealing photo albums or yearbooks. Who does that?
If you know anyone in the Prince William County area who suddenly popped up with a nice new Fuji digital with zoom and a bunch of filled-up memory cards? Send us the cards, wouldja? Keep the camera, but give us back our memories.
Please.
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