Dude, Where's My Car?

Indeed, that was the question of the day. And by day I mean week. In case you didn't know, I opted to fly home when my dad told me he could just have the car shipped from Houston to Ashburn (commonly referred to me as DC) for cheap. I figured why not, who needs to drive 1500 miles if they don't have to. Besides, I went through this process before, so I figured it would go the same.

Well wouldn't I just be wrong.

So here's the timeline. Dude picks up car from Houston last Tuesday, and car gets to DC on Friday. Now here's the actual timeline. Instead of calling me to pick up the car at 3 on Tuesday, I get a call at night on Tuesday from the dude letting me know that he's crashing in a hotel on 45. One that I'm sure he must have passed by campus to get to. Anyway, he says he's had a long night (not picking up cars I'm assuming) so he might sleep in tomorrow. I politely tell him he better get my car before noon tomorrow since I'm freaking leaving Texas later that day. He complies. Sweet, I'm back on track.

Wrong.

This would be OK if the guy was just lazy and unreliable. But unfortunately he was also incredibly stupid. I gave the dude directions about 15 times. I might point out he also had the directions sent to him a week ago along with the address. Anyway, when I told him to turn onto Kirby from 59, he became utterly confused. He was like I can't find it. Keep in mind this is Kirby. I'm not asking him to find Laboratory Road on the map or anything, but a major street in Houston. I proceed to tell him roads that are near Kirby on 59. Buffalo Speedway, Edloe, Greenbriar, Shepherd- these are all lost on him. After repeating myself again and again he magically finds the road. Good lord.

The next morning I awaken at Alana and Jenny's apartment to the busy catastrophe that is their leaking ceiling in their bathroom. As they await for service from their landlord, I await the phone call from the dude. It is a heated and tense battle of the ultimate anti-climax. Neither the landlord or the dude call when they are supposed to. But the dude does eventually call (and before the landlord I might add) and I head off to the Kroger parking lot with Jenny to meet him. I could pretend in all my liberal righteousness that I'm above stereotyping but let's be real. This dude was the living incarnation of the word redneck. I mean really. Anyway, I have to give him directions AGAIN to Ashburn. He says he can’t find it on the map. I found it in about 3 seconds. Now I wouldn’t expect most people to be able to find it that quickly; admittedly I have an unfair advantage as my parents do live there. But I maintain that if you are a truck driver that given a rather sizeable amount of time and a map, you should be able to get from city A to city B. Furthermore, if you are a city driver who fucking lives in Virginia you should know about Ashburn simply because it’s where Redskins Park is and where the team practices. But anyway. The dude checks out the car to document any preexisting damage. He spies my Kerry/Edwards bumper sticker and we exchange odd looks. I couldn’t decide if I was glad that I left it on, or if I was actually regretting it. Oh well. He takes the car and tells me I can expect it Friday night or Saturday morning. OK.

Sunday rolls around and he calls. Apparently he calls from his house. In Virginia. He felt it was OK to take an extended pit stop at home even though he was fucking late with my car. WTF. He tells me he’ll be in Ashburn around 3 on Monday.

It’s Monday and 2:30. He’ll be in town at 7.

7 rolls around. He says he’s just left from the border of Tennessee. For those of you who are geographically challenged, this means he first went the WRONG direction (south) to Tennessee, then decided much later that he would indeed move north. All while dragging my car around. Enter dad into the picture. He tells me I haven’t gotten mad enough at the guy. Because being mad at stupid people helps situations all the time. The irony of the situation made me chuckle as I looked at my dad, though I fear the humor was silently lost on him. Anyway, he has a flare for making situations worse and he failed to disappoint me yet again. He calls the guy, who’s clearly not going to get to Ashburn on Monday. Yet my Dad yells and yells, and they “compromise.” I get to stay awake until 1 AM to meet the guy across the street in the high school parking lot. Yeah that’s not sketchy at all- handing over a huge wad of cash at 1 AM in an empty parking lot. Even if you actually think this isn’t sketchy, it certainly becomes that way at 2:45 in the morning, which is when he actually got here. Luckily I gave him the spare key to my car, since after he drove it off the truck he locked the key in the car. Pure genius. This of course is all funny now that I actually have my car back. It was less than amusing early this morning. So the moral of this incredibly long story (it had to be long so you could empathize with my ordeal) is that whether it be my dad or the redneck dude- stupid people indeed still suck.