A Surprisingly Sane Blog

A few weeks ago I was freaking out because we’d booked some company to transport my car from Tucson to Seattle.  It seemed like a much better option than trying to drive my old junker halfway across the USA, a trip that I knew would probably run my car into its grave.  And I like my car, so I don’t want to get rid of it yet.

But the darn place didn’t pick my car up.  Bastards.  Here I was, freaking out because they were supposed to get it Monday (or whenever the hell it was), and it was a few days past the date without any word from the company. We kept trying to contact them, left messages, emailed, etc., and they never responded.

To make matters worse, they’d already cashed our deposit money.

Several days of no word had me about 118% certain that we’d just been scammed out of a couple hundred bucks that we really didn’t have to spare.  All I was thinking was those pieces of shit, now we have to choose which kid we love more and want to send to college all because that company stole a few hundred from us… and now I have to DRIVE all the way up the coast with two miserable, screaming kids while my eyeball twitches and FALLS OUT OF MY HEAD.

That didn’t happen, though.  Instead, I left my car parked at my parents’ place while I flew up to Washington because I didn’t want to chance deliberately coasting my car off a cliff and into the ocean. Plus, the plane tickets were already booked and paid for. 

Well, finally, more than a whole flippin’ week later, James got a phone call from some guy with a really strong accent.  He said he had just gotten orders from the scam company the evening before and he was scheduled to pick up my car the next morning.

Phew.  I was really relieved.  Like I said, I like my car.  And besides… James’ Saturn kind of smells like sour milk because he spilled half and half all over it, and I didn’t want to get stuck driving it around smelling like shit with two monsters ripping out the interior while trying to shatter my eardrums.  Not cool.

So just a couple days after moving into our new house, I got a phone call from James telling me that some dude was going to drop off my car and that he needed to be paid in cash.

No big deal, right?  Wrong.

James had driven his car to work that day, so I was stuck without transportation to somehow miraculously shit out the rest of the money we owed.  Chances looked grim that a cash machine was going to magically appear in my front yard to cough the bucks out for me.

Just as he was calling to tell me this, a massive semi-truck thing pulled onto our cute little street and this really big guy stalked out and walked up to the porch (where a neighbor and I were watching our kids play together) to tell me in a thick Ukrainian accent that he was here to drop off my car.

He wanted his money right then and there.  I explained that I didn’t have any cash on me and asked if I could pay with a check.

The look on the guy’s face almost cut me a new one while he told me it was company policy to only accept cash and that wanted the money I owed him now.

“Just a second, let me call my husband.”

At this point, I called James halfway hysterically and told him to get his ass home before this dude on the porch squished my head until my brains popped out with his bare hands.  My neighbor looked about as scared and I felt.  AND YOU KNOW WHAT MY HUSBAND SAID?  James had the nerve to tell me he couldn’t come home because he was in the middle of a meeting.

Um, excuse me?  This guy is breathing fire down your wife’s neck, but since you’re in a freaking meeting IT DOESN’T MATTER?

At that point, I told him he didn’t have a choice but to come home if he ever wanted to see me and his kids alive again.  A threat to which he seemed to understand, so he sighed and said he’d see what he could do about leaving.

Car-tow-er-guy was happy enough with James’ answer to get the hell out of my front yard and begin the process of removing my car from the big semi-truck thing.  And as he was doing that, my neighbor said he wouldn’t mind if Julie joined him and his daughter at his place for lunch while I ran out to get some money.  Phew. James was much happier with that arrangement, so I went over to let Mr. Don’t-Make-Me-Rip-Your-Guts-Out-And-Eat-Them-For-Dinner to let him know.

And you know what he did then?

He stomped toward me, turning red, and yelled in that thick accent, “I thought you said your husband was bringing the money!“.

This is where I shat myself and my knees started to shake in a bad way while I hugged April tightly to my chest and explained that he was having trouble getting off work and would he please just trust me, I swear I’ll be back in ten minutes with his money.

Then he got in my face, smiled this scary-ass grin showing a bunch of messed up teeth and not a pinch of kindness and said, “Okay.  You have ten minutes.  I’ll be waiting RIGHT HERE for you.”

By this point I was shaking so badly that I could hardly drive my damn car or remember my pin number, but I was back in just under ten minutes because I had a feeling he could track me by scent if I didn’t come home.  I only hit a few pedestrians and a rabid squirrel along the way.

When I got back, Mr. I-Hunt-Babies-For-Breakfast was sitting on the curb in front of my house eating a dead crow raw and clubbing baby seals.  I parked my car and thrust the money in his hand as I was opening the door and asked if he had change.  He didn’t.  I told him to keep the extra, then yanked April out of the backseat while he counted the bills.

And boy, let me tell you, I have never been more relieved to run like a pansy, lock the door, and hide upstairs in the closet as I was in that very moment.

Note To Self:  Never EVER owe a big-ass-motherfucking Ukrainian guy money again.  You might not escape alive next time.

Current Mood: Alarmed

This entry was posted on Monday, September 28th, 2009 at 5:50 pm and is filed under Daily Ramble, Note To Self, Sarcasm. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.