Fun on a Bun

Wassup chuckle bunnies. So this might be the beginning of my travel blog, although I admit not much travel has yet happened. I apologize.

But… but but butt! I do have a story. Story time with Capt. Torrence Rapebeard (I’m ghost writing, shhhhhh):

I just sold my car this morning. A very nice man named Jack came by with his son, Jack, to pick it up. I’m not convinced the event has fully sunk in yet, as I’m in heated discussions with a very persuasive hangover (more on this in a moment). Nonetheless, the vehicle is gone and I’m officially a career pedestrian.

I started the process of selling my car about three weeks ago, and it was whipped off the shelf quickly. Turns out this time of year is great for selling fuel efficient cars. Tons of students coming from out of state whose parents want to get them a car, but don’t want to break the bank because they secretly don’t like them. Strangely though, Jack is not a college student so much as he’s a school teacher. Great guy though. I got to know him and his son during the 2 hour wait for the locksmith to arrive, tear my door apart, and create a new key because I lost mine during a blackout last night on my way home from a ping pong tournament/house party (for the purposes of this story, let’s say I won the tournament and had sex with every woman there).

Yes. You heard correctly (stop reading out loud). I lost my keys as well as my thumb drive! There’s a devastating chance they’re in the dude’s car I rode home in. Said guy is not answering his phone, but I hope he has that stuff (UPDATE: He does not). I wouldn’t be so worried about losing that stuff except two of the keys belong to one of the other roommates here and I’m not supposed to have them, so says the landlord. If I don’t get them back, some shit could hit some fans. But I digress. The locksmith cost a grand spanking total of $246. We settled on $220 cash, of which I had plenty because Jack had just forked over 3,500 sweaty, vibrating dollars for the car. So son of a bitch. But of course right? I’ve never lost my keys before. So of course it happens the night before I’m supposed to hand my car off. Thank you fate. When you’re done laughing, could you help me with my bags?

Take your hand off the mouse, and put the graduated cylinder down because it doesn’t end there!

Last Thursday I also busted my towing cherry! Turns out that in Seattle the northbound and southbound sides of streets have different parking rules based on absolutely nothing resembling logic. The street in front of from where I’m staying (where I normally park) is 2 hour parking 7am to 4pm. Then from 4pm to 6pm, you can’t park there. You just can’t. For keeps. Across the street, you can park for as long as you like, so long as you don’t do so from 7 to 9am (so I guess it’s 22 hour parking). WTF right? Gotta clear the way for all the HEAVY TRAFFIC that makes its way through here at NEVER O’CLOCK. I had to park there Thursday evening when I got home from work because my normal area was full (of douche bags). I didn’t see any harm in it at the time, and I assumed since it’s the same area the rules would be the same. I didn’t bother looking at the sign to confirm any of this.

Come Friday morning, what’s this? My car’s gone? It didn’t take me too long to figure out what had gone down. So I got the towing company’s number and one of the dudes answering the phone fortunately knew the bus routes leading there and talked me in. We didn’t have the internet in this, our new place for the first week so I couldn’t look up directions.

As I said, I’ve never been towed before, but I figured the price would be outlandish. I braced myself for something around $100. Sure enough $118 rested neatly on the papers in front of me. After I screamed “Do you know who my father is!?” at the woman once, and only once, I signed off on it. Then I noticed a smaller piece of paper stapled to the first. It was a damn parking ticket! What happens (and perhaps you know about this already) is a cop will give you a ticket then buzz the towing company on in to take your car. So in addition to the $15 they already stabbed into the initial towing fee, now I get to pay $38 more directly to Washington state. I’m probably not old enough to say this yet, but the taxes I pay aren’t enough to give me a pass on the I’m-raping-you-right-now-it’s-better-if-you-just-go-back-to-sleep deal? Fantastic! It wouldn’t be so bad if it didn’t just reek of scam.

So that’s that. My car’s sold. My ticket’s mailed and on its way to misappropriation. And I can still rack up a “W” because I’ve got $3000+ in my pocket. I hope I don’t get robbed. It’s all kind of a bitter start to my blog, I would suppose. But don’t worry. This is me at my most unpleasant. I see very special muffins in the future. I have two more weeks to elude the hellbeast witch who runs this apartment building. After that I’m headed back to Indiana. I’ll let you know when I find out more.