LIFE ON THE INSIDE
Part XI: All I Need Is A Miracle
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 arrival of some poor schmuck like me who had to beg and borrow — but not steal because who needs more shit involving the police at this point — to scrounge up the money to free my kid’s car.
This dump with the rapists quarters? Was a gold mine. .
I handed the cash to the druggy looking dude. (I think he was 16.) The wind was blowing hard. My friend Charity, who drove me there and who weighs all of 11 pounds, was standing to my left shivering off her three ounces of body fat. The druggy looking dude counted the money while I stood there in my inappropriately packed tee shirt and linen pants freezing and terrified the bills were gonna blow away in the wind and hoping I’d counted it correctly because if not, the deal was gonna go bust and the lot was going to close, costing me more and more every day because its hours of operation are, and I quote, “when we want,” when finally the dude said something like “We’re cool” and I said “What?”…