shut up and drive

I left my house at about 6:30 last night, the way I always do on Wednesdays. I had gotten home from work about 15 minutes earlier, to see my uncle (my landlord... and actually my cousin, not my uncle, but that has no bearing on anything) installing a new sink in my bathroom since, about two weeks ago, Tom touched it and then the hot water wouldn't stop running. So now we have a shiny new sink. Thanks, Tom! But anyway, I was happy that the sink problem had finally been resolved and was looking forward to a fun night at Fenix Down practice, since we were planning to go over some new cover songs, in preparation for next year when we hope to be playing a lot more often.

I walked to the spot where I believed to have parked my car the last time I got out of it, which was Monday night, after practice. I remembered that a group of kids were walking by my car and, since I was on the overpass, and it's slightly deserted there, even at 9:30pm, I waited until they had passed to get out of my car and walk toward the house. I remembered all of this quite vividly as I stared at the spot where my car should have been and saw only some tiny pieces of... well, of car. I walked up and down the block, hoping that I had misremembered, that the memory I had in my mind was from another night. This has happened to me before, both the forgetting where I've parked and my car being actually missing. The first time it happened, I was about to call the police when my parents' neighbor (who is actually dead now... rip) came out and told me that, since the city was doing work on the street where I'd parked, they had taken it upon themselves to tow my car to another street and not tell me. I found it there, safe and sound, so I was hesitant to raise any alarm this time until I was really sure that the car was gone. After about ten minutes of strolling up and down Bay Ridge Parkway, with no sign of my very distinctive car, I felt sure that I had cause for concern.

I called my father, hoping that maybe he had taken it that day for some reason and parked it somewhere else. He has my second set of keys, so this was my last hope. When he told me hadn't moved it, I responded with, "I'm entertaining the idea that my car has been stolen." My father came by a few minutes later, called the precinct and reported the car missing. When he gave them the plate number, the police (one very lovely woman in particular of whom who my father only had nice things to say...) told him that my car had been impounded. However, they could offer no further information, since the car is registered to my mother and not to him, and they told him he would have to bring my mother to the precinct to find out why exactly my car, with no outstanding parking tickets, had been basically stolen off the street.

No less than ten minutes later, with my mother in the car, we headed to the precinct. While there, I overheard a woman filing a report on a six-year-old boy who had been beating up her son on the school bus. Have I mentioned I love the world? The cop we dealt with gave us the name of the towing company who had taken the car but had no other information, saying we would have to call them to find out. They did, however, inform me that it was probably because I was parked illegally or slightly blocking someone's driveway. I told them that was impossible, since I was parked absolutely legally and nowhere near a driveway. I only received blank stares in response.

My father called the company last night but a dispatcher answered, telling him they'd be open at nine this morning. He proceeded to inform the guy that if this was some kind of scam operation, they were going to be in a lot of trouble. At this point, I was almost wishing that my car had been used in some kind of crime or even been involved in some interesting scam, if only because I have grown to hate my car so much that a cool story like that could redeem it in my eyes. As much as I did (and still do) hate it, it gets me from point A to point B and in relative style (when it's not snowing), and I really did want to know what the hell had happened to it.

This morning, the mystery was solved. My car had been involved in an accident on Tuesday afternoon, over a full day before I actually went to look for it. A car service had swerved and hit both my car and a Sebring that was parked either in front of or behind me. The Sebring was totaled; my car was not. And since my car is registered to an apartment my father owns in SI, there was no contact number, so a letter was mailed out yesterday informing Donna Diffendale on Maryland Avenue that her car was in the trusted hands of Finest Towing on Baltic Street. They told my father it would take about seven to ten days to fix.

This was kind of a blessing in disguise, since I wanted to sell the car anyway, and now can get it all fixed up before I do. I just find it fascinating that this has happened to me twice with two separate cars. My last car, the Elantra, was totaled by an elderly woman who didn't know the gas from the brake and smashed my little sedan between her Oldsmobile (I never realized the humor in the name of that car until right now) and the van in front of it. In retrospect, I hated that car, too. Maybe I'm doing this subliminally... anyone else want a new car?