Just Call Me Britney

This whole truck selling thing from the last post has been tough on both me and Fury. Last weeked, we gave the truck one last wash and this weeked I got the AC fixed. It's now ready for Craigslist. Since the Dada Truck was originally intended to be passed down to Fury when he got old enough to drive, he's been trying in his own way to prevent the inevitable. Last week, he offered up his Wii ("How much does a Wii depreciate, Dad?") and just tonight he asked, "Dad, can I buy your truck and just IOU until I'm 16?"

Unfortunately, Bank of Dad needs a bailout, so the best I could offer him was one last drive. With him at the wheel. Lucky for the the City of Arcadia, he can't yet reach the pedals. So instead, I drove him to the parking lot of a local shopping center. Being Sunday night, it was pretty empty.

Fury climbed to the front seat, sat on my lap, took the wheel, threw it in D and I gunned it. With me in full control of the brake and gas pedal, I felt pretty good just letting Fury hoot 'n holler and make me carsick. The radio was playing some Blue Oyster Cult concert and Fury remarked "God, this is perfect truck music!" as he jerked the steering wheel right-left-right-left not unlike the "Fast and Furious" video game he loves so much at Dave & Busters.

As Fury put Dada Truck through a stress test like it's never experienced in 7 years of faithful service, I soon noticed we were no longer alone in that parking lot.

It was the police. Smokey. The one-time. 5-0. The po-po. Rolling up on us. Headlights off and in stealth mode.

"Uh-oh, Fury. It's the cops!"

Fury froze. He was scared. He shot me a quick glance for a directive and I spoke slow and low. "Duck. Roll into the back seat. NOW." I slowed Dada Truck to a stop and did what I thought made sense in that situation. I picked up my phone and pretended to make a call. Because when you stop in the middle of an abandoned parking lot, it's because you wanted to get safely off the road and call your mother. Or something.

The police car continued toward us. The fake phone call wasn't deterring him.

So I threw it into Drive and got the hell out of there. We live a quarter mile away and there are a few turns where I might lose a curious police car. And we did. Much to Fury's relief.

When we walked in the house, we went to tell mom about it. I told her the whole story and when I got to the part where we ditched the cop, I noticed Fury putting up his hand for a high five.

What. I couldn't leave my son hanging, right?