Huntress of the Lens


Thursday, September 24, 2009

Just stay out of it Mom

Five years ago my oldest son bought his dream car. It's an older model RX7, and although I know nothing about cars I know that this one is special. Special in the drifting community, special because it's old and has so much stock stuff about it. He loves that car. To me it's an old silver car, but like I said, I don't know much about cars.

He bought it for cash, and got a receipt and some paperwork, which he hasn't been able to find for years. There were ten months left on the tags, so he figured he had plenty of time to register it and transfer the title. Four months later he got a DUI in it and it had to be parked until he paid the fines and completed the school that goes along with this. I felt really bad for him, he had been drinking but he had a friend drive him where he wanted to go and then stopped drinking for a couple hours so he could drive himself home. He was trying to be responsible, but he still blew a .09 when they pulled him over and since he was only 20 at the time they took him to jail and suspended his license. He then figured he didn't have the money to register it will all those fines looming over his head, and didn't do it at all. For five years. It took him four years to actually start paying the fines, and he just completed the school in March of this year. I had promised myself that it would be his problem to solve, but I ended up paying for most of that school, and guess what, it is not inexpensive. So, hey, now he has a valid license! Yay! 

He got a job after a year of unemployment and is finally ready to get his tags in order. Five years later. We do stuff like that in our early twenties, I know I did. Yesterday he went to the DMV to start that process and there are a few snags. One is the fact that the original seller has since died. Another is that there is a lien on the car from a credit union that no longer exists. The final wall he hit yesterday is that the new credit union, the one that bought or simply absorbed the old credit union will not talk to him, or give him any information on this lien, they say the seller's next of kin is the person they will talk to.

He spent a day of frustration trying to figure this all out, and then Michael found the dead guy's brother who is the next of kin in about ten minutes of internet searching. Oh, but the brother is not willing to be helpful because he doesn't want any of his dead brother's debt to somehow be assigned to him. He won't talk to the credit union.

That is really where this story stops, I'm afraid. You can read those paragraphs over and over and when you get to the part where the brother won't help you can start all over again.

The thing is, my son wants that car, wants to drive that car. He's been sharing Michael's truck with him because Michael has been very generous up to this point. There are bound to be scheduling conflicts soon, and my son needs a car that he can drive to work and all the other million places a twenty-five year old guy wants to drive. "Why don't you get another car for transportation?" I ask, as though that's a reasonable question. "I want that car, that's my car." says he. "But that car doesn't really belong to you, it belongs to the credit union that holds paper on it, and you can't get it registered." say I. "I don't want to talk about this right now." says my son who I think is realizing that he threw that money away all those years ago.

Round and round, like a dog chasing its own tail we go. 

I think this is a very expensive lesson he's going to have to just add to his resume of youngster mistakes. He is willing to keep going round in his head about this car and can't see how to move forward. His new job pays enough for him to contribute to rent and maybe pay me a little bit at a time the one million dollars he owes me. He wouldn't be able to save for a car anyway, whether or not there's a bad economy and there're tons of cars for sale right now. He's depressed, and he's on stop.

On the bright side, he's working five and six days a week, double shifts a lot of those days. He just can't see his way around the fact that he's not going to be driving the RX7, and doesn't want to talk to me about it. I had to let it go for the evening last night, but he's got to figure something out because he can't drive Michael's truck without being on our insurance for long, and he can't get his own insurance on a vehicle that doesn't contain his name in the title line, I don't think.

Round and round. I know my Dad was always able to un-fuck things like this for me when I was his age, but I really don't know what I can do for him. He doesn't want to talk about it though, so I guess I'm supposed to just stay out of it and pray he doesn't get in an accident and ruin our insurance for us.

Kids. The other white meat.

1 comment:

  1. Shitdamn, that's a pickle.

    I wish I had something constructive to say, but all I can think is..."can't wait to see how this works itself out", because it will. Things always do, somehow.


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