Save Time & Money: Just Pay Someone To Steal Your Car

Back in February, on the 4th (it was a Sunday), I returned from a weekend trip and realized my sister's car (1994 Dodge Caravan--Blue) was missing. She had been visiting me, and we had parked it in some long-term street parking here in lovely San Francisco. Our first question was why anyone would want to steal her 11-year-old car.

I reported the car stolen. The cops were basically unsympathetic. Think of the scene in The Big Lebowski. We gave up on the minivan, it was gone forever.

Flash forward one month later. I'm in Michigan (see the previous post). My younger sister and I were surprised to receive notice of a parking ticket, issued to the stolen vehicle, in Oakland. I called to complain, no one seemed to care. SFPD couldn't find the car.

Two weeks later we receive another parking ticket from Oakland. I called to complain again and no one seemed to care. The SFPD still couldn't seem to locate the car. My sister and I would drink beer late at night and fantasize about returning to Oakland, calling the SFPD from right in front of the car (to tell them we were doing their job for them) and then boldy re-stealing it.

A week later they find the car because, I guess, their divining rod finally worked. Problem was, I'm in Michigan, and wouldn't be back for another 12 days.

Too bad, says both SFPD and OPD. A & B Towing charges a fee for the initial tow, and a fee every additional day it is held. They didn't care the car was stolen, A & B is running a business and that's how it is. They tell me the car is damaged, but not stripped. My sister and I wonder how much crap could be missing from the car and they would still describe it as "damaged, not stripped." For instance, if the steering wheel was intact, but everything else was gone, would that still count as "damaged, not stripped"? They informed me I was legally responsible for the fees on the car and the fees would continue to accrue until paid, even though it was stolen, and even though i may no longer want it.

One week later (after they tell us they have found the Dodge), my sister received yet another Oakland Parking ticket.

I go to A & B Towing in Oakland. The amount I needed to pay at the time was nearly $900. The Caravan has a blue-book of a negative-dollar value. I asked to see the car, because I'm not gonna pay $900 without seeing it first. A nice guy named John (who commiserated with me the whole way to locating the car) took me to see it in all of its "damaged, not stripped" glory. The battery was dead. Everything had been taken out except some dated road maps and a broken scratching post I had been planning on dumping. The seats were torn, the speakers were pulled out and mutilated. The inner paneling was loose and disheveled. The entire seating area had been used as an ashtray. Briefly, I thought about the possibility of retrieving the car and winning a spot on "Pimp My Ride." Then reality hit me: the registration and title had been stored in the car and stolen and it would probably take weeks to retrieve copies, if that was possible, from Michigan. IT COULD BE STOLEN AGAIN WHILE I WAS WAITING FOR THE PAPERWORK FROM MICHIGAN AND GOING THROUGH THE BUROCRATIC-CALIFORNIA-DMV NIGHTMARE OF REGISTRATION AND PARKING VALIDATION.

I opted against keeping the Blue Beast. Who knows if A & B would've helped me jump it. I probably would've been charged by another towing company to come out and jump it or tow it to San Francisco. They told me I had to pay $300 to put the car in their possession. At least it was less than $900.

So, I realized, my sister and I could've saved much time and money if we had just found someone on the street, given them a hundred bucks and told them to steal the car please, we no longer wanted it.

The State, as a distinct being under capitalism (as defined by Lenin), is a jackass.

Jackass, Michigan

My Blog has suffered as of late. Mainly because I needed to visit my parents in Jackass, Michigan and the land of dial-up, which isn't conducive to writing entries.

Of course there isn't really a city in Michigan with the proper name of Jackass. The real name of the city is Jackson, but I think Jackass is close enough. And honestly, if you've ever been there, you would agree. That I should hail from such a disaster wounds me. Seriously, I was buying alcohol at a grocery store and the woman carding me asked why the hell I would come to Jackson, even for a visit. I shared with her it was because of the World Famous Illuminated Cascade Falls. (See if you can spot them at the top of the web page.) The cashier rolled her eyes at me.

Anyway, I am back. I will write more. Before I do, let me part by sharing some observations of Jackasses I made on my road-trip out there:

1) Hey, you, the jackass who thinks that just because you are travelling at a high speed means you get to hang out in the left lane: I may be going faster than you. Get the hell out of my way.

2) I think all police are jackasses, but Illinois police are at the top of my short list for jackasses. No one should be able to stop me to say that he wanted to maybe warn me that maybe I was following a semi too closely, and maybe I need a warning. Either I was or I wasn't, jackass.

3) The Utah Tree. Enough said.