I'd like you to meet Nathan Jr.

It was early Saturday night/Sunday morning on April 25th that a vertically challenged individual with no respect for personal property or Karma, liberated lil' Nathan Jr. of it's stereo system as well as the custom speakers that used to be so big you couldn't even roll the front windows all the way down.  But that doesn't really matter because the windows were inside of the truck...which was also stolen from out in front of my house along with the stereo.  I have to say that whoever this miscreant was, was very well versed in how to steal everything inside of a truck while leaving behind very little damage to the interiors.  On the off chance that you're reading this you little bastard, I commend you for leaving Nathan Jr. relatively intact.   But more on that in a minute.  

To paraphrase the late, great Vincent Vega, "I wish I could've caught him doing it.  I'd given anything to have caught that asshole doing it.  It'd been worth him doing it just so I could've caught him doing it...what's more chickenshit than messin' with another man's automobile?...don't fuck with another man's vehicle, it's against the rules"...or something like that.  However, the odds of the guilty one reading this (or even being able to read) is about as likely as you or the cops finding your stolen car.  I was told by the SAC PD that there was little, if any, chance of this happening, despite my request that they keep me informed if they developed any new "leads".  I was also told that what was more likely to happen was that if it was ever found, it'd probably be chopped up beyond recognition.   Now, to be in compliance with the law, of course I have insurance...but not the kind of insurance that replaces my little Nathan Jr if, God forbid, it was stolen.  Except to possibly load it up with explosives and park it in Times Square, who'd want to steal an old Pathfinder anyway?  To make matters even more special, in the days and weeks that follow a vehicle theft, it's on the former owner of the stolen vehicle to call a certain phone number daily to make sure it hasn't been found and towed to the nearest impound.  In which case, if you want the car back, in whatever mangled condition it might be in after it's been recovered, it's on you to come up with the towing and impound storage fees that start out in the price range of ridiculous, and then just continue to double up everyday after that.  If you can't pay the fees, they get to keep it outright.  What a country!!!

This is the Kid.  Now we all know that Tricks are for kids and kids should not be wearing suits and hanging out at wineries, but that's him and it's a long story how and why he's still known as "The Kid". 

     All that aside, The Kid calls me up a couple of days after I'd proverbially lost lil Nathan Jr and wants to know if I'd already got my tuxedo for said wedding.  I said no, the vital information for getting the suit was in my glove compartment and I wasn't too sure where exactly that was at the time.  In a state of mildly subdued panic he informed me that stolen car or not, I needed to get that handled in the next few hours or we'd all be in a bad place come the wedding day that was now in neighborhood of 96 hours away.  Never one to let the Kid or a momentous occasion down, I realized that I must do something to rectify this impending disaster, and do it quickly.  I made the necessary arrangement to have an emergency fitting at a little place on the other side of town in an area known as little Saigon.  I'd never even been to that particular part of town, already having been alerted by the staunch warnings of not going down this particular boulevard after dark-no matter what-especially if I were serious about maintaining a lifestyle in which I enjoyed the act of breathing.  I attempted to procure a ride by any number of neighbors in my general vicinity, but as it had been for the last few days, I met with no such luck.  After a few thwarted attempts at contacting my so-called "friends" via my handy dandy Sprint Wireless communications device, it was becoming clear that I was running out of time and options at getting to this place before closing time, thus assuring that I would be without a tux the day of the wedding and cementing my title forevermore as "World's Worst-Best Man". 

     Naturally, on a day like this one, I couldn't ride my motorcycle because it was still raining outside and I felt no remorse for cursing the heaven's for their inconsideration as well as their sense of humor, obviously at my expense.  Short of calling a cab (which in Sacramento, can be almost as much as the tux rental itself) I was looking at jumping on my bicycle, battling the elements and getting this fitting done while being soaking wet.  Mr. Google helped me plan my route and I was off.  It wasn't raining nearly as badly as I was expecting but the farther I got away from home and the closer I got to Little Saigon, it was becoming increasingly obvious that I was no longer amongst the biker-friendly people of Downtown anymore.  I mean, some of these people seemed genuinely aggravated that I was peddling on the side of the street and had no problem letting me know that as they were driving by, at times so close I could've reached out and grabbed one of the guns sitting in the passenger's seat. 

But then an amazing thing happened:  Somewhere in between the thoughts of, "how much farther away is this place?" and "did that guy in the passing car just yell, 'DIE WHITEBOY, DIE!!'", I see off in the parking lot of the Kragen Auto parts, lil' Nathan Jr. in pretty good condition, except for the stereo of course.  And, after the cop came by to take my car out of it's "stolen" status and back into "probably will get stolen again very, very soon" status, I made it to that tux shop with five minutes to spare, with the windows rolled all the way down for the first time in a long time and with a big fat smile on my face.  Once again, I had The Kid to thank for my good fortune amidst my run of bad luck at the end of this, my Springtime of discontent.