One in a Million

I got a call on Wednesday from a random number.  I rarely answer my phone in these situations, but I was on my way to get my haircut and I thought it might be them calling me to cancel for some reason.

The man on the other end was from the highway patrol.  He was wondering if I was the owner of a Chevy S-10 pickup.  This was such a weird question.  I never felt like I was the owner, anyway (It was Sawan’s truck), plus I don’t really know if I’m the owner anymore, I’ve settled with the insurance company at this point.  So I tentatively said, “Yes…” and burst into tears.

Bottom line, they’ve found the truck.  The guy driving it looked “sketch” or something, so they pulled him over on I-25 near Castle Rock.  The patrolman ran the plates, which were from a dealer, and they were “legit” but he still felt it didn’t look right, so he ran the VIN number, and it came up as a stolen vehicle.  The guy’s story was something along the lines of “driving it for his brother,” or whatever they normally say, so they had some things to check out, and I’m not sure about him going to jail or what.

So, what I thought was finished is not, and I spent an afternoon on the phone once again.  When I called my insurance company they said, “Yeah, the highway patrol called us as well, and the story has been going from cubicle to cubicle, because they never actually FIND the stolen vehicles!”  I told her, “Of course they found it, I’m always the one in a million!”

There were some things in the car, but no fly rod and no bag of rocks hanging from the review mirror (these were the things I wanted.).  Just some change and a couple of CDs.  They’re likely not his, but I’m entitled to them if I want them (It’s probably not my Beatles CD that I’m sure was in there, but more likely something from whoever was driving it.  Probably something I’d hate like new age piano with whale sounds).  I’m debating about going to look at it or not. 

I still don’t think I’m done.  I probably have a few more phone calls to make, and then deciding if I want to go get the stuff out of it.  Ugh.  What a hassle.  I’m so sick of this stuff.  I’m so sick of being a widow.