My First Day in LA

But you gave it to me…so how could I steal it?

How comfortable would you be putting all your worldly possessions into a stolen vehicle and driving across the desert? I can tell you that I for one felt pretty good about it after I considered just how many morons I’ve rented from over the years. I planned the most crucial part of my move through U-Haul.com so that I could lay the groundwork anonymously.

A U-Haul agent called me to let me know my truck was waiting at this sketchy garage/gas station in a bad part of town. In fact, the staff at said shithole seemed stunned when I told them I was there to get a truck, even though there were five of them in the parking lot. The greasiest of them all told me over and over that he, “didn’t know how to do them U-Hauls.” I eased his fears by telling him that I took care of everything online “n’shit” and just needed to pick up the key. So he and I just repeated our lines, in my case, lies over and over. Finally our highly flammable attendant said, as if he were guessing, “so you paid online and you just need the key?” As I nodded my head yes, I didn’t think it could be so easy. He turned and handed me the key and I got the hell out of there before some one smart showed up.

Several hours and hundreds of miles later I made it to the land of crushed hopes and validated fears thinking “What the fuck am I gonna do with this quasi-stolen truck?” While I was tempted to just torch it or start my new career in the moving business with it, I drove it to a check cashing place/U-Haul renter and said “There’s your truck. See ya later.” The guy there asked to see the contract. Well versed in being evasive, I just said, “it must be around here somewhere” and did nothing to produce it. Fearing that he was calculating some amount to charge me I pulled some stuff out of my pockets a looked at it in a pensive way and walked out the door.

Walking home in my new neighborhood, I noticed a rather determined and well worn woman walk a few feet in front of me from this strip mall. As she turned the corner walking briskly I heard a crusty old man on a Rascal scooter yell, “Jackie, you ripped me off, you bitch!” As the man gave chase in his battery powered revenge cart, it appeared that Jackie probably was in the hand job industry. I scolded myself for being so cynical to think the man was yelling about his ejaculation being denied. But then I thought “Didn’t I just steal a U-haul? What am I thinking?” As it turns out, Jackie lives in the building right next door.