I received that dreaded phone call. The phone call no parent ever wants to receive. My son was involved in a four-car-pile-up. Thankfully, he was not injured. Thankfully, no one was injured, not even the driver of the truck that flipped (!) over my son as he sat at a red light…
This is the good news. No one was injured. I could stop here but then you would miss the rest of the story. The why-does-everything-have-to-be-so-flipping-difficult part.
His Xterra was towed to the Dallas Police Impound Lot, located at the end of the earth where businesses are wrapped in loopy barbed wire, that section of the city people go seeking bail after stealing cars…
My challenge is to have the Xterra towed to a body shop for repairs, a test of patience and shrewdness and ironclad resolve.
Even slower than the Texas Department of Motor Vehicles, more disorganized than the Social Security Department, check your weapons and common sense at the bullet proof doors, take a number, prepare to wait an hour, or two, try not to make eye contact with anyone insane or otherwise. Everyone is on equal footing, equally insane by day’s end at the Dallas Police Impound Lot.
Now serving 230.
I am number 252.
I must wait twenty-two numbers. Twenty-two numbers equals a lifetime, a zillion hours based on the government clock where time creeps at a postal pace.
I am ill-prepared, armed with only half an iPhone battery and no book…
Nothing to read but the walls plastered in signs advising ‘No Tipping Is Allowed’. Don’t even think about it. No dinero under no circumstances.
Yet, I have a tip. Don’t EVER have your car towed to this oppressive place.
There is only one open window. One! Uno to serve hundreds of waiting customers.
A second officer sits smugly behind a glass window marked “closed”. His sole job is to push the button controlling the “now serving” number. With each number change, a chime rings out sounding much like the ‘ding’ of the Goldsmith’s Department Store elevator, a sound I have not heard in thirty-five years… Somehow this sound is the only pleasant thing about the afternoon, evidence of my growing insanity.
Ding! The man with the power, this button pusher man, changes the number. Now serving 252. That’s me!
Finally.
I jump up and shout, “Bingo!”. I couldn’t help myself.
After sitting for two hours, within two super sonic seconds I am handed a standard release form and promptly dismissed. “Here, fill this out. Do not make any mistakes. No corrections whatsoever. Get it notarized. Take it to your insurance company. Do not pass go.”
A.Standard.Release.Form?
Even the post office leaves forms in the lobby…
Even the IRS has standard forms available for download from the comfort of our own homes…
“Can’t I fill it out and leave it here?” I plead.
“No!” Ding! Now serving 253…
This is why no weapons are allowed.
Hours wasted that could have been spent elsewhere, anywhere. Hours I can never get back.
And to think next week I get to repeat this entire process. Only next week, it’s called Jury Duty.
talya
Wasted Days and Wasted Nights, Freddy Fender
I lost my mind just reading that!
haha sorry!
I had my car towed there after it was stolen. But the insurance company picked it up.
My insurance company sent me there! Thanks Nationwide…
Well written and very, very funny. Freddy Fender hit the nail on the head.
:))
I have to say that takes the cake! I would have been certifiably insane by the time I walked out of there. More close enough for government work mentality, I guess.
Ugh! I hate red tape. You should have sent your son to wait.
http://joycelansky.blogspot.com/2013/05/theme-thursday-trust.html
Oh I would have Joyce, but he had already returned back to Fayetteville.
Oh my goodness. I am glad that he’s perfectly fine, and kudos to your patience. Blessings, Tayla.
An email I received from my neighbor Carol. It is a great slimpse into how horrible the pound was ten years ago. Apparently it is greatly improved…
Loved your post. So glad your son is OK…must have been terrifying.
You won’t believe this, but our experience was even worse when our car was stolen 10 years ago. And State Farm had already been, totaled the stripped car and filled out the form.
We went together not realizing what it was like. We stood in line about 2 hours – those numbers are an improvement! Only one clerk was working though there were several behind the counter. As the woman on behind us told someone on her cell phone, “No one works here. Oh, they’re employed. They just don’t work”.
We (actually only Ashley was allowed to go) had to ride the bus out to identify the car. You wait another hour to be called when there is a full load for the bus. Then the driver collects car locations as you board. Does he go in a logical order? No. In the order of the cards as he collected them. A23 to S10 to B9, etc.
Then there’s more paperwork to hand in…
I live in fear of getting towed to the pound again.
oops ‘glimpse’ not slimpse…
Glad your son was alright, this all sounds horrendous, they’ve made a tv programme about the pound and how stressed people get. I would have a hard time containing myself, especially when the form is something they could have on the side or online for you to print off so you didn’t have to wait. Hope you have a blessed weekend.
Very Entertaining! It reminded me of the time my dad’s pick up was stolen and found abandoned in Memphis. The police couldn’t tell us which impound lot to go to. We wasted a day touring several of those ‘end of the Earth’ places. A friend of ours that worked for the Arkansas State Police finally located it for us. State Farm couldn’t find it!!
First of all, I’m very glad Tate wasn’t hurt in the traffic accident. Secondly, your story is tragically hilarious with your sarcastic twist on the situation.=) I thoroughly enjoy reading your blog, everyday, Talya!