When I signed on for this adventure, Amy and Paul were intending on flying to LA and driving my car back to Pennsylvania, but they eventually pulled out. Because the car is a lease, I was left with only one option: shipping it back to Pennsylvania. At the time, I hardly realized this was even possible.
I eventually booked the cross-country shipment of my precious, albeit filthy car — for only $900, mind you. I was shocked to find that shipping a car 3000 miles was so inexpensive. One day, I will probably re-read the previous sentence and gawk at the relativity of “inexpensive.”
When the car was picked up in Burbank, I was getting doped up with vaccinations, so I wasn’t around to witness the mishaps surrounding the onset of its journey, but I heard the details, all of which were consistent with my experience when the car was dropped off: a tiny Asian man, very broken English, and a big truck.
As soon as I arrived on the scene, he yelled at me because the Burger King parking lot would have been a better place to park, but I unfortunately couldn’t understand him when he told me this on the phone. Had I known an empty parking lot would have been ideal for the swap, I never would have given him directions to my house.
Amy was nice enough to scoot back to the house to grab my camera, because if anything in the past three weeks needed to be documented, it was definitely the gigantic rig parked in one lane of a shoulderless, two-lane street, directly outside the entrance to Newberry.
Despite everything, the car made it in one piece. Bravo, sir. Bravo. You are a master of your trade.
