One time when we lived on Foster Avenue in Chicago, Carl and I were walking home from getting ice cream at the local Dairy Queen and noticed as we walked by our car as it was parked on the street that it was filled with smoke. We casually looked in the windows, walked about it, and stood dumbfoundedly by, not knowing what to do. Fortunately, it was nighttime, so we didn't raise much of a rumpus. We didn't even call the Fire Department. It was a little embarrassing as a matter of fact so we slunk into our apartment and discussed what to do. The electrical harness in our car had caught fire and caused lots of damage to the car's interior and the electrical system was toast. We realized that it would cost more to repair than the monthly payments on a new Dodge Dart (A White Hat Special), so we dodged (chuckle) the bullet and bought our first new car.
Several years ago, there was lots of movement going on outside my office window down at LDS Business College and a student came running in to tell me Larry Richards' car was on fire. I stood by my window watching and I actually felt a little ambivalent. It was kinda funny, but was sorry it happened to such a nice guy. But the crowd that was watching the event was almost joyful.
Well, today, we get a couple of calls to tell us that an unmarked police car was on fire down by the Daybreak swimming pool. Lots of excitement, fire trucks, other police cars and onlookers aplenty. Why was that so exciting? Are we seriously impaired to be able to be entertained by the misfortune of others, particularly the local constabulary? I'm ashamed but still have a little adrenaline going on.