How NOT to take a city bus tour

Yesterday at the office, our program director asked if I would be willing to attend a city bus tour where the intent was to illustrate the blight, poverty, and illegal dumping of this particular area of town which tends to go unnoticed (or so it seems.) As the more or less officially designated neighborhoods person for my department, of course I obliged. So today, after quite a bit of difficulty finding a parking place, I arrived to the pick-up location of said city tour. "Am I going to get towed where I parked?" I asked a seemingly in charge sort of person. "Naah.... you should be fine."

I'm handed a map of our tour. The title of the map reads, City Dump Tour.

I have a haunch this isn't possibly going to be any fun.

A small group of us walked towards the bus we were about to board. But folks, this was no ordinary run-of-the-mill touring bus. Oh no. This was a COUNTY. CORRECTIONS. BUS. That's right. County Corrections. Just the bus I wanted to ride in on a lovely Wednesday morning. Complete with metal bars, lockable gates, inescapable window coverings, strap-downs, and the token hula girl flapping away from the sun visor (I am not making this up!) Now mind you, this tour was an effort to show fellow bus riders the ins and outs of neighborhoods which need more than just a little TLC. Um, well, it's a bit hard to see what's what when you are looking out from tiny peep holes in metal covered bus windows! As if riding on this particular murderer and rapist jailbird bus wasn't quite bad enough, we traveled at a max speed of 10 mph so the sheriff cars (with their lights on, no less) could easily keep up with us JUST AHEAD and yes, RIGHT BEHIND US as well. Wanna get the neighbors out of their houses and on their porches right quick? All's you need to do is drive real slow-like in a County Corrections bus with cops following in front and behind and you can bet your sweet bippy you'll find yourself with a whole block's worth of rubbernecks, gawkers, and jaw-droppers. In a way, this was a good thing. Get neighbors talking. Show 'em we mean business. After two uncomfortable hours in this stinky, claustrophobia-inducing bus, the fun tour came to a close.

But wait. There's more!

I arrived back to the parking lot where I had parked my....... wait a minute. Wait just a minute! Where's. my. CAR???? Oh, yes, of course! It's been towed. I made a call to the towing company and, for the first time ever, attempted to throw my weight around saying where I worked and what had happened, and told them that my car was towed and that, um, I kind of like needed to get it back.

towing dude: "Do you know how to get here ma'am?"
me: "No. I don't have my car!!"
towing dude: "Well, ma'am, it's gonna be $125 for the impound fee."
me: "Well, I'm not paying that!"
towing dude: "Do you want me to call a cab for you?"
me: "No!!!!!"

*click*

I proceeded to then call the program supervisor (and work friend), explained the situation, and asked if they could help me out. I'm put on eternal hold while my work friend talks to the building's honcho about what to do for my situation. When I return, I'm told that, sorry, the place where I parked was apparently a private lot and there was nothing they could do to throw me a bone. I wanted to start crying like a little girl and scream at the top of my lungs.

Only minutes later, my trusty work friend came to pick me up and willingly took me to the towing place. No kidding, this place was damn near the other side of the planet. We drove by the place about five times before realizing we kept passing it. Why, you ask? Well, let's see...
1. it could've been that it wasn't marked. 2. That it was in a rural, yet residential area. 3. That there were no visible buildings or towed-looking cars from the road whatsoever. 4. That the long and windy gravel road looked like it went straight to the all-things-rape-and-murder no one will ever know sort of towing place. Yes, that's the one. Deliverance Towing, Inc. Heard of it? No? Well, that's because it's here in My Town! I'm not kidding; this was the Illinois version of Deliverance. After curling around the twisty gravel road, passing by a cardboard sign with red stick-on letters which read, "Smile Your On Camera" (note misuse of your), a pile of axels and a broken-windowed abandoned school bus filled with scrap metals, tires, and other questionable contents, traveled 90 degrees down a "hill" into the place.... we made it.

At this point I was reasonably certain today was my last day on Earth.

"Uhh.... I'll stay with you until I see you get your car and follow me out," says my compassionate coworker friend.

"Why? Because you're afraid I might not ever be seen nor heard from again?" I ask.

"Mmm, basically. Yes," she says, sheepishly.

I walked up to the "window" of this large, dilapidated metal garage where there's a sign that reads: If you don't see anyone at the window, bang real hard on the garage door.

A guy came out and I told him who I was and what I was there for.

"$125 please," he says.

"Isn't there anyway you guys can waive the fee on this?" I plead.

"Sorry, ma'am, you'd need to talk with Kathy about that and she ain't here at the moment" he mumbles, with a snicker in his tone.

"Of course she's not," I say in my best sacrcastic tone, handing him my credit card.

I'm furious at this point, and mumbled something to the guy about any damage my car may have incurred while being towed. "Oh, they don't damage 'em when they tow," he says.

"Oh really? How was it towed? Was it on a flat bed or pulled?" I asked, tail feathers up.

"I reckon I don't know, ma'am" he says. Great. I imagine I'll find out later when an axel falls off or my car is suddenly aligned to the far right.

I drove off, nostrils flaring. When I arrived back the office, I realized I had somehow managed, during my fit of anger, to forget my notebook folder thing at the tow place. I had a full roster of clients to see the rest of the afternoon today, but thankfully, a fellow colleague felt sorry for me and offered to cover for me. So, I drove all the way back out to Deliverance Towing on the other side of the planet, yet again, and got my folder. I made it through the day alive. Tomorrow I plan to plead my case to the main boss so that I can get reimbursed for this little fiasco. Moral of this story: never take a city bus tour unless 1) you are tranported in a vehicle which has ONLY been used for the non-incarcerated, and 2) you're sure the parking spies aren't watching your every move.

And to put the cherry on the top of this sundae? Today is my three year anniversary with the husband.

Cheers! I could really use a drink...