The Tow Story

In general, I am a faithful, law-abiding citizen. I pay my taxes, avoid trespassing on others' property, and even obey the speed limit (on most occasions). But there comes a time in one's life when one must test the boundaries of such laws, not out of sheer rebellion but merely to ascertain whether or not the guard is watching from the Panopticon.

I live in a neighborhood of college-age hoodlums--I've developed a graduate-school-complex where I suddenly feel as though I am decades older than those my own age--who stay up half the night and invite their multitudes of other youthful friends to join the party (can you imagine having friends over at 9:00 at night?). These late-night shenanigans often tend to flood our already packed parking lot, thus rendering good ol' folks such as yours truly without a spot in which to rest their vehicles. My neighborhood was also designed by space-challenged fools and places which could easily be used as parking spaces are covered over with gravel, donned with poor excuses for shrubbery or either painted meticulously red indicating the fire lane. Hence, it is not out of the ordinary to see a car or two parked in the spaces marked with red when all other available space has been taken. I myself in moments of desperate frustration (not wishing to park a mile away from my house) have parked in said spaces.

It just so happens that one fateful night, after a long day's teaching and my own classes, I arrived at my house and there was not an empty parking spot in sight. Left with very little choice (despite the mile I was most stubbornly unwilling to walk), I parked in one of the red zone spaces. Having never been towed before, I had no fear that my car would be safe until I needed it for the next morning's classes. But I was not as lucky as I would have hoped, for the next morning my car was gone. I called the tow company to ascertain my car's whereabouts as well as the price to purchase its freedom. I canceled my class and my tutoring appointments and my roommate was so kind as to drive me to the impound.

My roommate left me to myself at the lot, and I approached the towing company's office quite warily as it seemed a rather shady sort of place: quite on the outskirts of town and entirely unpleasant to look upon. I tried the door of the office, but found it to be locked. Not a very welcome sign when one is alone without a ready vehicle. I knocked loudly at the door and it was eventually opened by a very unkempt human being who seemed confused as to my being there.

"I'm here for my car," said I.

"Which one?" mumbled he.

I told him which and he shuffled about the closet-of-an-office pulling random slips of paper from indiscreet piles, smudging them with his oil-encrusted fingers. The necessary paperwork was finished, my card was swiped (taking the remainder of my paycheck), and this confused human being told me to meet him at the gate where my car was kept. After much fumbling, the gate was opened to reveal a number of vehicles but none of which were my car.

"Well go and get it," he demanded.

"None of these are my car," I said impatiently.

"Oh," he mumbled once more.

He closed the gate and moved to open another, which of course did not yield my car.

"Uh, we don't have your car, ma'am," he admitted sorrily.

"What do you mean you don't have my car?" I replied hotly.

The man scampered off to the office to inquire from his supervisors about my car only to discover that the company had not towed my car. Panic is an understatement for my emotions at that moment.

"Your car was towed by them," the small man said motioning with his head to the cabinetry company next door.

"The cabinetry company towed my car?" I asked suspiciously.

"No, the other towing company is 'round the corner," he mumbled one last time as he reversed the transaction on my car.

I fled the place gratefully, and rescued my car from the very kind, bearded tow-men next door. Needless to say, I now go to extremes to ensure that I always have a parking spot.

-KB