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| In my work clothes, I went downstairs to hop in one of my cars, only to find that neither of them were there. They are both gone, with no sign of forced entry or foul play. Days later I would ask my landlord what happened to my cars, only to find that they were towed for parking in a zone not available to tenants. The irony is that he told me I could park there. Unfortunately, I don't have any money to bail both cars out of impound. | ||
| Two weeks later, I would ride the transit and walk the remaining 2 miles to the impound on the outskirts of West Fargo. I approach the lady at the front desk, sweating profusely and trying to pat down my matted hair. Apparently MTW Towing Company charges $125 for each car towed and $15 a day for storage fee. | ||
| "Three hundred dollars! Are you nuts?!" I impeach. | ||
| "Sir calm down," she snaps. I stand there with my mouth open, misty eyed. She draws a deep sigh and shuffles through her papers, ignoring me, daring me to grab the computer off her counter and spike it on the ground. Unfortunately for us, her job title is not conflict resolution. | ||
| I ride with the tow-truck to the storage facility, and share my sob-story with the driver. He turns the radio up, stairs straight ahead. Once inside the gate, I find both cars and hop inside the Golf, leaving my 1993 Pontiac Grand Prix behind. Parts of a computer, a blanket, and some posters in the trunk. It is company policy to not allow clients to enter their vehicle unless the have paid their dues. It is also company policy to hold the vehicle for 90 days, or until the fines are paid off. At the 90 day point, the car is no longer your car, it belongs to the towing company. They sell it and take in a decent profit. And all you're left with is a dumb-story. | ||
| "Would you mind giving me the keys to the Pontiac? You know, just in case we have to move it." Says the tow truck driver. | ||
| I chose the Golf, which was actually bought by Allie and I for $185 only days after my bike was stolen. The car won't start. How predictable. I walk to a hick bar on Main, interrupting a friendly game of Bingo. Slouched in a booth in an aura of desperation, my limbs flail in different directions. I call for another tow truck and wait outside in the rain. Late for work and shit out of luck. | ||