So I try not to imitate my brother’s blog by only posting when something depressing or irritating has happened in our lives, but today I have no choice. Thursday we had one of those days that my nephew Mason would have labeled as, “The worst day of my life.” His worst day ever was set off by having to go to JCPenny so I could buy a couple of shirts (I’m not sure where he wanted to go, but it wasn’t JCPenny), but he had at least three or four more worst days of his life after that while I was staying with them over the summer. But the “worst day of our lives” was set off by someone stealing the car the other day.
So the Unbehends donated this Dodge Intrepid to The Florida Sellers Foundation (hang tight and I’ll give you the information on how to make a donation yourself) and it served as the mode of cross-country transportation for our move to Maryland. Somehow after we moved here, I lost the radiator cap off of it, so I had stopped driving it and it had pretty much been sitting out there for the last two weeks. Well, I looked out the window the other day, and it was gone without a trace. I laughed about it. Yeah, it was kind of funny. They stole a car with no radiator cap. It would only take about 15 minutes before it was blowing smoke everywhere. Ha, that’s funny. Stupid thieves.
The police showed up and told us it was the second stolen vehicle that morning… on our street. Awesome. They called us the next morning at 6AM to tell us it had been found up in New Carrollton, a quaint little municipality on the northeast side of the city. Ok, we’ll drive up and get it released, no problem. Should just take a couple of hours. Little did I know I was venturing down the twisted staircase into the entrails of Hell.
The tow company wouldn’t give me the car without a release from the police… but they would gladly charge $50 a day to keep it for me. The police department wouldn’t give me the release because the name on the title was Unbehend. You need to drive 30 miles back to Waldorf and go to the DMV and pay to register your stolen car (which at this point we didn’t even know if it was worth the $88 to register). The DMV wouldn’t register it without proof of the lien being paid off, and the proof we had – the loan document with a giant stamp that said LIEN PAID – was not good enough.
Set my papers on the roof of the car so I can open the door. Wind blows my papers across the parking lot. Scream profanities into the now afternoon sky. Contemplate kicking in the door of the car. Lady in parking lot rolls up her window and looks the other way. Search for keys that are suddenly missing. Scream more profanities at my car. Drive back to house because even if they would have let me register, I had forgotten any form of payment. Drive back to the DMV, talk to the supervisor, get a receipt that shows the DMV now has the title and they are transferring it to my name. Drive the 30 miles back to the police station in New Carrollton, give them the form from the DMV.
We’re sorry, this isn’t good enough. You need to have the title for us to release it to you.
I brought the title earlier. The DMV now has it, because you told me to take it to them. Hear the ringing of the tow company cash register in my head. Ca-ching! Bill is now $300. Consider putting on my Terminator shades and telling lady at desk, “I’ll be back.” Talk to hard working police supervisor with joyful attitude and Dunkin Donuts Disorder. Convince him to give me the release, because I wasn’t leaving without it, at least not without a nightstick beating. Get a fax from Montana with a statement that I am authorized to remove the car. Get the release. Thank the clerk and skip merrily out of the station.
Drive to the ghetto. Walk up the stairs into the tow company house of horrors. Bring my self-defense weapon/car starter/flat head screw driver. Cringe as I pay the man. Drive to the ghetto car lot. Waive to the nice Latino fellows selling crack outside the nice car lot. Put coolant in the car and screw on the new cap. Use the screw driver to start it. Check out the brand new brick, tree branch, and phone bill the thief left me. Check that they took my CDs, but left Paul’s Word World DVD. Yeah, no need to learn to spell words in this part of town.
Bump out to Jay Z on the hip hop channel. Drive through rush hour traffic with my wife following behind. Sense the panic running through her as we get on the interstate with five million road raged DC residents. Turn on the heater, no hot air. See the gauge run up to red. Hear the motor rattle. Coast off the side of the road. Watch the cars fly by at 80 MPH. See the smoke shoot out of random places on the motor. Sit along side of the road. Get into the other car, smell the pleasant aroma wafting from Paul’s pants. Only going to be gone for an hour, no replacement pull-ups.
Call the car donation people to come take it away forever. They won’t tow it off the freeway. It’s illegal to tow a car off the freeway she tells me. So wouldn't you see thousands of broken down cars rotting along the freeway then? Right. Drive into a slightly less ghetto town. Call the tow truck. Follow the car home. Cringe as I pay the man again. Look at the dented, broken, leaking car sitting in front of the house. No longer laughing.
Awesome day. Anyone need a car? I’ll cut you a good deal. Still in great shape. Free brick and tree branch included.