Tuesday, February 13, 2007


Funny, I Don’t Remember Going to Jail

Yesterday, I got a $20 check from the Seattle Municipal Court, paid from the Bail Bonds Trust Account.

Funny, I don’t remember going to jail, nor posting bail.

So I called them today. They told me that a few years ago, I overpaid a parking ticket (this makes the story even more perplexing as it is generally my M.O. to neglect parking tickets until I get a call from someone with a name like Wayne or Bruce or JayJay).

Apparently, when they received the paperwork that I had sold the GEO, it generated a process that notifies the seller if they have a credit or debit with the municipal court. It’s a good thing I sold that car when I did, with the time value of money and all.

Which brings me to my second piece of news….

I sold my 1995 Geo Prism to our neighbor, Art.

How this all came about was slightly (but humorously) unsettling. I bought my new car on a Wednesday night. I drove it home at 7:30 pm. I pulled straight into the garage. The next morning, at 6:30 am, I pulled out of our garage and zipped on to work. At 8:00 that morning, Dave heard a knock on the door and there was weathered, old Art, standing on the doorstep.

“You going to sell that Chevy?” he asks Dave.

Dave said he had to talk with me.

I put off making the decision for a couple of months. I mean, my relationship with that old car was a peculiar one. I felt like the guilty husband in a withering marriage. On the one hand, I had a deep sense of gratitude for her dependability and trustworthiness over the years. She had stood by me through all sorts of hardships - without complaining. But alas, the spark was gone. I couldn’t muster any passion when I looked at her. It was a sad and complex relationship - one that I simply wanted to put behind me.

That, and Art already has three cars and a boat. I was nervous about living next to the growing collection.

In the end, cash flow won out and I sold out.

I now feel like the pregnant teenager in a 1980’s after school special. After agonizing deliberations (played out in a neat 23 minutes), I let the upper middle-class, WASPy couple adopt my baby. I catch glimpses of her every now and again. She is perpetually sparkling clean and better maintained then she ever was with me.

She looks truly happy.

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