So the parish truck was stolen ...

Fr. Dan had left it parked outside of the church's garage before the 9:00 am mass on a sunny Sunday morning, locked and pretty well hidden from the main road. But when he went to go drive it back to the Jesuit Residence after the 7:00 pm mass, it was gone.

Now, we're not talking a 2008 Dodge Ram with 5 seats, 4 wheel drive, leather interior, a CD player, and chrome rims -- no, no. The St. Martin's parish truck is a 1994 red Ford, trusty as all get out, but with few functioning parts (i.e. the radio only works sometimes, and when it does there's no volume control; the windows are, in Ellen DeGeneres' words, "churn butter-esque" and squeak terrible going up or down, which is often considering the A/C is also shot; the muffler shakes and bakes like a putting motorboat; the ignition locks so as to embarrass the driver as people stare wondering why the Gringa can't start the vehicle; and of course, as any classy truck should have, the spare tire is padlocked to the roof) -- and, to be honest, I know nothing about automobiles and the heart of the truck is undoubtedly in worse shape than the unaesthetic exterior. Needless to say, I love this vehicle and because I have yet to learn how to maneuver our motorcycle, I spend about five hours a week in it tootin' around Belize City running errands for the parish and school, rusty muffler and all.

So, I was pretty disappointed when I heard the news.

We moped around Monday and Tuesday, Fr. Dan bitter about having to go get the mail (my job) on the scooter during rush hour, Mrs. B stressed as to where we would possibly get the money to buy a new truck, Esidoro upset that he couldn't go get the supplies he needed to fix the door of the church, and Angie and I disheartened at the cancellation of our afternoon joyrides. At this point, we were certain our truck was absolutely dismembered -- probably in Guatemala -- and the parts that were of no value were probably being sold as playground toys for children. Shucks.

And then, Tuesday evening as I sat in a dreadfully boring and doodle-filled St. Vincent de Paul Meeting (another entry -- I'm not yet ready to talk about how I spend my Tuesday nights), I heard the familiar "put put put," and thought to myself, no...it can't be. With a quick sneak of a look out the upstairs parish meeting room, I saw a beautiful sight: Esidoro, Mrs. B, Fr. Dan, and Ms. Florette (the cleaning woman who is, inadvertently, hilarious) getting out of the two-person cab of OUR TRUCK!

I have since vowed that anything in my life can be solved by this unstoppable foursome. Ms. Florette, who knows not only how to get a stain out of anything but also the names of every cop in town (though she won't admit how), had mentioned to her "cop-friend" 'Coon (short for Racoon -- I'm not sure if this refers to looks, or what) that the parish truck had been stolen. 'Coon said he'd keep his eyes and ears open, and that he'd spread the word around. Mrs. B, whose husband was a BDF member (Belize Defense Force), asked around as well. And my favorite -- Esidoro called all of his friends in the "auto industry" in Belize City; he knew a guy who sold tires and whose stock, incidentally, is received anonymously ... maybe they had gotten some parts from a Ford recently? And Fr. Dan, well, he's a priest. So I'd like to think he had God on his side. In any case, these Fantastic Four had their eyes, and the eyes of all their friends, peeled like a street vendor's orange.

As it usually happens in Belize, gossip got the better of this "teef" (thief, in kriol). The truck was found less than 48 hours from when it was stolen, less than two blocks away from the church and, hilariously enough, one lane over from Mrs. B's house. The truck was missing only the grill (which was probably a blessing -- that thing was rusty!), the lightbulbs from the headlights, the back bumper, the spare tire, the two emblems that said "Ford," and as we found out later, one windshield wiper. We'd like to think that this character started to take the things that were easiest to carry first, and then halfway through his work, he/she let their conscience get the better of them: "I am stealing from a church, for God's sake! What am I thinking?" And so, as they loaded up their bag of truck accessories, they decided it would be best to leave the truck -- in tact and absolutely drivable (except in the rain and at night) -- by the good church lady's house. "She'll definitely find it."

And a good deed it was. Fr. Dan's scare with the errands has passed and I'm back behind the wheel towing Angie around town; Esidoro can again accomplish his skilled carpentry work; and Mrs. B's heart rate has finally slowed to just about a healthy rate. Although our church still has no money, at least we're not in the hole. Better yet, we all had a great laugh together -- especially at the contacts that revealed themselves through the frantic race against time and Belizean looting. When Fr. Dan called the Belize City Police Department to cancel the report he'd filled out (on the back of a receipt with a "Hello Kitty" pen -- I was there, I know) he mentioned, "I just wanted to let you know that your buddy 'Coon really helped us out."

"Who the Hell is 'Coon?"

And that, my friends, is why I love my co-workers.