The Saga of Heather's Car
Heather called last night, sorta to talk, sorta to complain, sorta to ask advice on what to do about her car getting towed. She was clearly blue, so I listened, offered as much advise as I could, given that my car has never been towed (knock on wood, throw salt over the shoulder and touch the doorknob three times).
Kris knew what to do, and told me to call her back to tell her to call the police. Whenever a car is towed, the police will have a record of the towing, presumably so that when you call to tell them your call has been stolen, they can tell you it's been towed. After she called back, having talked to the police, and yes, the car was towed, it became very clear she needed someone to help her get her car back. What a crappy situation to be in, car towed and no way to get to the car to get it back.
I offered, she accepted, and I drove up to Oakland for the Great-Grand-Car-Retrieval.
Perhaps needless to say, there are parts of Oakland two women should not be in as night falls.
We waited in the wind for the towing company employees to come back to the facility so that she could pay for her car. We stood in the lobby waiting for the supervisor to release the car. We endured the supervisor's indignation when Heather (rightly) refused to sign the release form that waived all rights to claims for damages resulting in the towing before she saw her car and had a chance to inspect it. We followed the towing company guy from storage facility to storage facility, chasing away cats and claiming rights to short semis, looking for her car before we finally found it hidden in the prosecutor's garage where the good cars were stored.
We went to dinner afterward.
I felt bad for Heather. Having a car towed is stressful. Having to spend money on an unexpected expense is never fun. Ending a stressful week with an even more stressful event super suck-a-sauruses. I just hope the bottle of champagne (bubbly!) I bought for her helped ease the rough day. We toasted to the start of good days, beginning with that first swig.
(Note, I didn't feel badly. Feel is a linking verb requiring an adjective as the object of the sentence. To say I feel badly means I am unable to sense or touch something well, as if my nerve endings are shot.)