Bad things come in twos. On May 1, 2006 at 2:01 a.m., my mauve minivan Voldecar (The Car That Must Not Be Named) burped his last cloud of carbon monoxide, leaked his last stream of something green and toxic, twitched, sputtered and died. On May 2, 2006 at 10:37 a.m., I picked up a copy of the New University and opened to the classifieds.
The ad for the medical office said, ‘Marketing job. Make your own hours. Bonus potential available. Applicants MUST have their own car.’ The ad for Cambridge Tutors said, ‘NOW HIRING S.A.T. & ACADEMIC TUTORS. $13.80-$24.00 per hour. Flexible schedule. Need car.’ And the recruitment representative on Ring Mall said, ‘Sorry, we’re only interested in applicants with cars. In our experience, applicants who rely on public transportation are late, stressed and angry people.’ Ouch.
Like a raindrop, a snowflake, or a seagull dropping, an idea fell from the heavens and landed upon my head. My high school economics guest speaker was just your Average Joe who made millions of dollars on the stock market. He said, ‘If all you care about is making money, then you should become a drug dealer.’
But, as my friend pointed out, a drug dealer needs a car.
In conclusion, don’t do drugs. You need a car. Especially if you’re the 45-year-old subject of a dumbcriminals.com article called ‘Take Some Time to Stop and Smell the Crack.’
‘I need a car,’ the Stratford, Connecticut resident thought. Then he made his first mistake: stealing a car. His second mistake was purchasing gas on the car owner’s credit card. His third mistake was interrupting a car chase
Filed Under: Features