A few weeks ago my grandma’s bicycle was stolen directly out of her basement. Someone living in the same block of houses as she does just went down to the basement, cracked the lock on her personal part of the basement and stole the bicycle of an old lady.
My grandma was devastated – she had had that bicycle for twenty-or-so-years, a present to her from my grandpa, and she flat out refused to get a new one. “It would not be the same”, she said.
Now today my cousin was on his way home with the train when he spotted in one of the bike parking racks at the station he passed my grandma’s bicycle. Had to be hers, because it’s distinctly violet with a special seat and a colorful sticker all over one side that my grandpa had left there.
So he dials his dad, my uncle, and tells him, “Yo, I think I spotted grandma’s bicycle.”
We didn’t know how it got there, half a city away from grandma, or who had taken it, or if it currently still “belonged” to the thief, but…
My uncle took an early leave from his work, sat in his car and drove over, picked the bicycle up – the lock doesn’t hold very well anymore, another sign that it is truly grandma’s, the thief had not even gotten a new, functional lock – put it in his car and drove back to grandma’s to give her a surprise present.
My uncle the lawyer just left his work to steal my grandma’s bicycle back and I think that’s the best thing ever.
(He posted a selfie in our family chat where he peace-signs in front of the stolen-back bicycle and wrote Success! beneath it, that dork.)