I went out last night, to a certain apartment complex that will remain nameless. At 11:30pm, I parked in an ambiguously valid visitor’s parking spot. When I came outside to drive home, at around 3:30am, my car was gone. It had been towed.
 
I just have one question. Who tows cars in the middle of the night? Are you kidding? There’s no reason to tow someone that late unless they are physically blocking traffic or if the car is a bomb. My parking job may have been suspect but it was pretty harmless.
 
I wandered the parking lot like a lost child for a good ten minutes before admitting to myself that my car was actually gone. That’s a weird feeling, when your car isn’t where you remember leaving it. You start questioning yourself. Am I drunk? Am I retarded? Did I win some sort of sweepstakes where they replaced my car with a nicer one?
 
Unfortunately I wasn’t drunk, I’m not retarded, and most disappointing of all, I didn’t win shit. I caught a ride home with a friend and spent the rest of the night screaming into my pillow like a teenage girl until I fell asleep.
 
The next day another friend was nice enough to drive me to the impound lot to retrieve my car. If I had gotten there twenty minutes later, I would have missed my last chance until Monday to get my car back. That was a close one.
 
There’s something about the towing business that sets off your primal instincts and makes you fucking angry. As soon as we rolled up to the lot, I started to get extremely bitter at their audacity. They had a big tow truck blocking the lot so you can’t just hop in your car and drive away. Who they fuck do they think they are? Even their driveway pissed me off. Don’t ask me why, it was just infuriating.
 
I walked into the lot and saw my car sitting there, surrounded on three sides by other towed cars. I took a lap around it, hoping that they had caused some body damage that I could sue them for. Sadly, it was in-tact. I opened the door and retrieved my wallet, which I had left inside.
 
A giant sign on the main building said “Please go to window.” There was a couple in line in front of me at “the window.” They were arguing over some stupid irrelevant dribble, trying to haggle price with these people over some auto-body work they had done. All I could see through the foggy bullet-proof glass was a hand inside the booth waving around a piece of paper and pointing at certain parts of it. I just want my goddamn car back, just pay your bill and go home, assholes. Eventually they came to some sort of agreement and the payment process began. Their credit card machine must have been from 1947 because from the time the woman handed her card through the window to the time she moved her fat ass out of the way was at least another five minutes. That’s not even dial-up speed, that’s like telegraph speed. They should have sent a carrier pigeon instead. Or maybe they should have just carved her receipt into a stone tablet. That would have been a pretty efficient way to waste more of my time.
 
As I was waiting, one of the mechanics/tow-truck drivers/giant douchebags asked me what I was there for and if I needed help. Was he actually being polite to me? How dare you, sir. How dare you. I’m not in the mood for pleasantries.
 
When my turn to approach the window finally came, I realized why the other people took so long. The guy in the booth had to be 100 years old. He didn’t even look like a real old man; he looked like an actor in old-man makeup. His face was covered in moles and liver spots, and his glasses were almost as thick as the bullet-proof glass that was stopping me from punching him. He told me that I owed him $220. I was thinking it would be more like $150, but what could I do. No matter what they charged, it would have been too much. Even if it was free, they still would have owed me for ruining my day. I gave him my credit card, and as he was running it I read a second sign to my right. “Contents of vehicles must not be removed until payment is received.” Too late, I already got my wallet out. Losers.
 
The two mechanics on duty started doing their little jigsaw puzzle thing, to free up my car so I could leave. There was a brief window where the tow truck blocking the entrance was moved and my car had a straight shot. I thought about making a dramatic escape, but then I realized that I had already paid. Foiled again.
 
Old Man Winter was kind enough to give me a receipt denoting how badly I had been boned. Thanks man. I guess I’ll hold onto it in case I want to return my tow-job, or perhaps exchange it for a good old fashioned eye-gouging. As soon as he handed the slip of paper to me I turned and walked away. He might have just destroyed my budget for the next three months, but I didn’t say “thank you.” I clearly win.
 
The worst part of this whole thing is that, when your car gets towed, you spend all this money… and you get literally nothing in return. Absolutely nothing. In fact you also lose valuable time from your day. I think they should offer some sort of consolation package, even if it’s just a Twix and a Vicodin. That way when you get home you can at least say, “Well that was the most expensive Twix I’ve ever eaten.” But you won’t care because you’ll be fucked up on Vicodin.

1. Will, October 22, 2007:

   If you illegally park in their lot, where do they tow you?

2. Jessica, October 22, 2007:

   you would say something like that … but indeed it is a good question.

3. olu, October 23, 2007:

   Im so scared of being towed or even ticketed, I can’t afford it. I fucked up once this semester but got lucky.

   Totally unrelated, Im just really proud that the three of you finally finished the series.

4. e, October 25, 2007:

   As I was perusing the recent Towerlight website I came across your blog in the section or “Perspectives.” I don’t know you, but as I was reading your blog [artcile on the website] I was literally laughing out loud at your portrayal of the adventure in retrieving a car after its been towed as well as the overall anger and annoyance of the situation…then I got to your last sentence asking for a reward of maybe a “Twix and Vicodin”…why throw around the use of illegal and deadly substance such as Vicodin to add humor to the situation? Last year, 2 students died on Towson’s campus both deaths could be attributed to illegal use of pain killers among other substances that were abused..students ask why Towson has such a negative reputation–why TUPD are always “on our asses” about everything, and you Evan have successfully pointed out exactly why.

5. Billy, October 26, 2007:

   your a dummy. evan rulez lolz

6. jude, December 14, 2007:

   went through the same shit, same feelin of hopelessness, of being looted. wanted to get back at the towing company and the whole goddamn city of baltimore