Last week I put on my cute new shoes from Target and went outside to wait on the porch for my ride, a.k.a. the getaway driver for the Great Car Heist of 2013. I was invited along to photograph the heist.
The mark: a Dodge Challenger.
Here is where I'll point out that I don't think it is at all incongruous to love cute springy shoes from Target and black muscle cars (isn't it beautiful?). Matt isn't really sure where I came from. Too much Dukes of Hazzard watching and a very formative experience of jumping out of a 1960s Ford Mustang window as a small person, I guess. And a whole lot of Pimp My Ride in the 2003-2006 time range. And maybe a recessive gene of some sort.
But that's beside the point, because the real question is: why in the heck was I involved in the stealing of a very valuable motor vehicle? Charity. All in good fun for the basket auction.
I make a super-lousy criminal, though. As we (the nameless we) were gathered outside the mark's garage hoping not to draw too much attention, I happened to see another black car slowly driving down the back alley. I squinted, quickly running through the car Rolodex in my brain and deciding there were only two options, one of which was highly unlikely. This car? This was the car that belonged to the Lady of the House. I froze like a deer in Volvo headlights for a few long seconds andthen did what any bad criminal does: I ran into the open garage to stand very still. It was very reminiscent of what I did that time the shower door exploded into a billion little pieces of glass. That time, I ran out of the bathroom making terrible Willis Startle Reflex noises and then cowering to cover my head as if I were an ostrich burying its head in the sand*, meaning, if I couldn't see the billions of pieces of glass, it wasn't really happening. Matt loves to point out my very supportive behavior on that one, since he was the one covered in the biillion pieces of glass.
This time, I couldn't actually get out the words to alert everyone else—so I just ran into the garage and froze. You know, so no one would notice me, the one with the camera and the cute shoes standing by the very valuable car. Heh. I suppose in hindsight it wouldn't have been the biggest deal if we had been caught, but the heist had been so carefully planned and orchestrated I hated to be the one that was spotted first. Luckily, the driver of the Volvo was not the Lady of the House but the Lady of the House's daughter, coming to check on the progress (she was involved).
I guess it's good to know my talents do not lie in car theft, right?
The car was then returned, but the extra keys were not—and were bid up on auction night after the car heist slide show to the tune of $1200, when the owner finally was the last man standing and got his keys back.: )
In related news: my Pink Party for Six basket got put in the wrong portion of the auction on accident and went for only $60, boo. The only thing that kept me from bursting into tears was that it went to a very good home. The framed vintage postcards went for $560, and I have a really great family who bid on and won the photo shoot to photograph this spring. All in all, somewhere in the vicinity of $15,500 was raised in about three hours, which will all go to the scholarship fund. All's well that ends well!
*When I was double-checking to make sure that it was in fact ostriches that bury their head in the sand I learned that ostriches actually DO NOT bury their heads in sand. Pity. But you still can picture me doing it : )