So a few weeks ago, it was a rainy night. The Captain had just parked his land cruiser and gone inside his land home, his ship away from the seas, if you will. After a sub-par take-out dinner and maybe, maybe something psychotropic following, he heard a loud smash right outside his front door. The kind of smash that only two metal cars grinding together in a horrible meeting of fender and fender can produce.
I hear these kind of crashes all the time at my apartment. There's a wicked intersection with some poorly-placed trash bins that causes a rash of accidents.
This one wasn't like that.
Let me take you back a couple of years. My lady friend woke me up in the middle of the night. It was a cold February and there was a light coat of snow on the ground. The place we stayed was drafty and I was comfortable (only a ship's wheel could soothe me as much) so I was not keen on stirring. My lady friend pressed the issue, saying she was woken by a smashing sound. Right outside the apartment. She thought her car might have been hit and wanted me to check it out. I told her not to worry because the alarm was not going off.
To my credit, the alarm, in fact, was not going off. And it was a fairly hair-trigger kind of alarm. So I continued my active stance of stoic passivity and laid there, unmoving, repeating my alarm dictum.
This was not to the satisfaction of my lady friend and my active passivity was quietly trumped by her passive activity. So I got up and looked out the window and, of course, her car had been clipped in the rear and the offending driver had left the scene.
That one set the Captain back a cool grand in deductibles. And that was my betting money. Which made me particularly steamed. But everything worked out in the end (except my betting money) so there was nothing to be upset about (betting money).
Back to the night from the beginning and I'm parking in the same ill-fated spot as before.
It's late, it's raining, I have two bags of the sub-par carry-out to carry and there really is nothing open for a couple blocks. With the exception of a handful of quick moments, I have managed to avoid it for this long. But it's the last spot and I cave easy. Which is why I'm not entirely shocked later on when I view the destruction.
I heard the smash and went outside to see if anyone needed help. (Actually, that's just what I tell people. I really just went outside to see how bad the cars were fucked up, maybe smoke a cig, loiter a little bit on my front porch and avoid eye contact with any of my neighbors.)
When I got outside, instead of seeing two cars in a heap, there was only one - mine.
Some dickhole had just hit my vehicle and driven off.
The people in the street who witnessed it were very helpful in telling me what kind of make and model the car was and which direction it took off in when they finally stopped laughing at me.
The cops came and took a report. I asked them what they thought the likelihood of finding the person who did this was and they were very helpful in telling me what number to call and what report number to reference when they finally stopped laughing at me.
Long story short - the dickhole turned out to be a teenage girl who freaked when she hit my ride and came back the next day to 'fess up. I got paid from her insurance company and decided to upgrade instead of buying a piece of shit and using the difference on several eight balls and a couple white trash escorts I found on Craigslist.
I think that was a wise choice in the long run as I was able to afford a Volkswagen. That's right, a Volkswagen. Specifically, a Passat. Check it out:
By the way, that's just a stock photo. I don't let people take pictures of my new car. The flashes fade the paint. If I had wanted pewter instead of gunmetal, I would have asked for pewter instead of gunmetal.
So I've joined the ranks of the elite, folks. I have joined the ranks of people who have weird-and-overly-technical keys for their cars.
Have you seen these things? They are from another world entirely. Look:
Doesn't that just blow your fucking mind?
Seriously, look at it from this angle:
I have nightmares about that thing and I am its master.
If the United Federation of Planets were Nazis, these are what they would use to round up Space Jews into the photon showers.
If Bishop the android was programmed with Jack the Ripper's thought waves or alpha cycles or whatever, this is what he would use to kill future-whores.
My whole point is, people with keys like this are probably better than people with normal keys. Or else God would not have gifted them with the power of the special keys. It's like a modern Manifest Destiny. Only better, because it involves German engineering.
So next time you see me, kneel in praise. Or take out your special key. Then we'll toast and laugh at all the little people around us.
That bright boomerang smile, those elfin ears, her greasy-but-still-gorgeous dark locks. Mmmm.
