Stolen Car

A couple years ago, I was in a meeting and my phone rang. It was my mother, so I silenced the ringer and called her back later. I mention this because this wasn't a typical phone call from my mom.

"What's your license plate number?" she asked upon answering the phone.
"I don't know; I'll have to look. Why?"
"Your brother's car has been stolen and I want to make sure we gave the police his license plate number and not yours. We wouldn't want them coming to arrest you."
"Wait, what? Michael's car was stolen?! Where? How?"
"Well, they left his keys in the ignition at the shop after they fixed his car and the shop owner's mother was left up front to look after things. She saw a man drive off with the car, but thought he was one of the mechanics. They didn't realize until later that the car was stolen."

Ok, so this ended up not being the stupidest part of the situation. The car was reported and we figured it was gone for good. However, days later the police called and said they found the car. It wasn't abandoned on the side of the road. Pieces weren't miraculously discovered in a chop shop somewhere. It was rendered not drivable and irreparable though. It was hit by a train. That's right, a train. You see, the guy who stole the car found some fake temporary tags and sold the car to some unsuspecting guy. The buyer of the car had a special purpose for the 1996 Buick Regal-to die in it.

The suicidal car buyer packed his pills and drove himself down to the train tracks in his "new" car. He parked it on the tracks, swallowed his death candy and waited for the train to come. The train came, but unfortunately from the opposite way from where the poor man thought it would come. The train hit the backside of the car and knocked it down a sixty foot embankment. The dead guy wannabe was a little bloody, yet breathing, and still with the mortal world. The Buick was a goner.

My brother and a few other family members went to the junk yard to pay their final respects. Billy the tow truck driver (who is a post all on his own; I have other stories about him) said the Buick was a doozy to get out of that ditch. He even "messed up his [blankety blank] shoe trying to tow that car out." It took him several hours. (That's just karma, Billy). Visiting the car was a somber moment for my brother. He had been upset the whole time because he left his tennis rackets in the trunk of the car. From the way the train hit, they definitely wouldn't have made it. However, when he looked in the backseat of the car, lo and behold, his tennis rackets were sitting there! Suicidal Man was courteous enough to move them and they didn't even carry a scratch.

So, all's well that end's well, I suppose. A man got a second chance at life (whether he wanted it or not), my brother got his tennis rackets back and Billy messed up his shoe.

Here are some pictures of the wreckage: