LIFE ON THE INSIDE
Part XI: All I Need Is A Miracle
Or maybe an impound lot
Tired of working for “the man”? Looking to change fields, make the leap into something completely new? Something where you can be your own boss, set your own fees, and nobody, but nobody can balk at them ’cause you have them over a barrel?
Open your own impound lot!
All you need is a modestly sized piece of decrepit property tucked behind an abandoned strip mall garnished with graffiti and surrounded by barbed wire fencing, a ramshackle shed that looks like rapists live there, a few very large, very angry dogs, a willingness to gouge your fellow man for the sake of your annual trip to the redneck Riviera and maybe some new teeth for your sweetheart, and a friendly rapport with the local police, and you are in the money!
I wanted to kick myself when I went to pick my son’s car up from the XX impound lot in XXX, Virginia. (No, this isn’t a mistake. I’m not naming names lest they sic the aforementioned angry dog on me.) I had no idea a business could look so bad, feel so shady, and yet from the thousands of dollars in CASH I had to hand over to the druggy looking dude who greeted me, be so profitable. I mean, why in God’s name did I go to college? There had to be three, four dozen cars there, locked up and awaiting the…
