The Other Day, we had to put her down. She was a terrific SheBeast who did us well for quite a while when we needed her. But her repairs out-weigh her worth and that is saying a lot for 2 tons of fun. Also, with the move to New York . . . well, it was time. We are sad about it. Really.
So, we sold her to Pick-N-Pull salvage. Fast, easy, no listing, smogging, test drives, or complaints. They may resell her or part her out as an organ donor to other Box Body Fords.
But the scene at P-N-P was one for which we were unprepared.
First, any car that slows below 5 MPH gains the immediate attention of all the salvagers who know that in this business, one is either first or last. We were quite uncomfortable about some or all of the Prius, Macy, of Dale might go while I went into the office. As I approached the office, swaggering through the parking lot comes a woman in too small, too tight, Capri pants and leopard print stilettos with her parolee tracking ankle bracelet just blazing out loud and proud. The crowd parted. Nobody was interested in testing her. Me least of all.
Then things got kind of tense as a Big Man thought the line paying the $2 admission to the yard was moving too slow:
"Get that sissy out of the way. I'm a man. I'm a real man!"
What kind of life leads someone to assert whatever authority he can in this way?
The entire saga of this "quick and easy, down and dirty" transaction of dumping the Ford took a big portion of the day. We were burnt and sad returning to Berkeley, but knew that we had done what we had to. As we enter town, we notice a group of 5 riders heading out for an afternoon ride on bikes probably averaging a few thousand dollars each.
Same planet; different world.
