One of the fun things about the junkyard is that you often find items in cars that tell an interesting, though often sad, story. As I've mentioned before, I love cool found objects from cars, and one of my very favorite junkyard finds is a heartfelt, pleading note left on a car by an owner desperate to avoid the towing-away process they (correctly) sense is approaching. I've got a pretty decent collection of such unsuccessful notes found beneath the wipers of junked cars, and today I'm sharing a few. The one written in blue crayon looks as if it served its intended purpose (get the owner out of paying tickets and fines), but it was also a failure- I found the car at a different junkyard than the one referred to in the blurred-out text.
Oh man... brings back painful college memories.
One bleak February night silent as a tomb, I labored under the hood of a beat up Rambler, with only hours to go until the next work shift, and the beginning of my average 20 hour day. Freezing rain turned to sleet, and the obese apartment manager woman with her 24 diseased and wretched cats called the tow. Frozen hands and bloodied knuckles finally freed up the wallowed-out three-on-the-tree shifter mechanism as 3:00am struck. I finished fabrication of a bronze sleeve from an old piece of plumbing, with a propane torch and rat-tailed file, battering it in the frigid temperatures with an old carpenter's hammer on a piece of re-rod. As the tow operator rolled in, enough bolts were in place for me to start it, get it rolling, and return 30 minutes later after he left to finish the task.
I did manage to get to that calculus class on time, but I really don't remember anything that was said. I didn't thaw out fully until coffee with my friends at 100:00am break in the cafeteria.
God bless the Hoon hard pressed by The Man and his fat cat-lady agents.