Not a Typical Friday Night
My partner’s version of Friday night’s events involves his being impressed that I waited until I was almost 60 before I stole my first car. It is true that it was 11:30pm. It is true that the car was in someone else’s driveway and I didn’t have this person’s permission to take it. My adrenaline was pumping. It felt as if I was stealing the car, but you cannot steal something that you already own.
The car had been on long term loan to the person in whose driveway it was parked, but, because of changing circumstances, earlier in the week it had become necessary for me to ask that it be returned or purchased. He whom had been driving the car with my permission was upset and posted some unflattering remarks on Facebook. He later claimed that his rant was not about me; that he was speaking of my partner.
I believe that he thought his assurances that my partner—not I—was the subject of his wrath would make him look better in my eyes. He was wrong. I told him that the car was no longer for sale.
He who no longer had permission to drive my car informed me that my position was unacceptable. He then dictated the terms under which I would sell him the car. My lawyer was not impressed.
My lawyer assured me that I could just pick up the car myself; that I didn’t need to first go to the police. This is why my partner and I were out past our bedtime trying to locate my car.
We first checked the parking lot where he who was now guilty of grand theft auto worked. The car was not there. He had taken the night off.
On our way home, we drove past his house and my car was parked in the driveway. My partner stopped. I got out of the passenger seat and, wearing my jeans and black hoodie, walked up the driveway. Lights were on in the house, but the big dogs did not come barking to the window. They were locked in the basement because he who should have returned the car was entertaining a guest whose freshly smoked cigarette still left a lingering aroma in my car.
While the occupant of the house was enjoying carnal bliss, I unlocked the car, entered it, and drove away. The darkness and stealth made it feel so wrong to take the car. I must admit that the circumstances also made me feel exhilarated.
Saturday morning, I disposed of the drug paraphernalia and mailed the other personal belongings to he who was no longer on the wrong side of the law; at least as far as my car was concerned. After receiving a text which, among other things, confirmed that there were drugs in the car, I blocked future contacts from he has gotten what he asked for in Facebook; that my partner—and, by extension, me—no longer be part of his life. I doubt that the quality of our lives will decline.
I quote Judge Marilyn to my students: “Say it, forget it. Write it, regret it.” I attempt to make them understand that nothing posted on-line is private; that once you post something on-line you lose control of it.
I am not Facebook friends with he whose sense of entitlement contributed to his no longer having access to my car. But that doesn’t make any difference. Someone who saw his post took a screen capture and sent it to us. Even if the misguided post has been deleted, there are at least three copies of it that still exist.
Judge Judy often advises people that if they don’t want her 10 million viewers to see a text, they shouldn’t have pushed the send button. In part, she is referring to texts that confirm current drug use. I advise students that writing about their mistakes 30 years from now—as I do when I admit why I almost failed out of graduate school—might not be problematic, but that writing about current mistakes or illegal activities is unwise.
I stress the need for students to do quality research. Even though I knew that I could legally take my car, it was worth the cost of the consultation with my attorney to confirm that what I knew was correct. Sometimes, when I have checked the veracity of information I know to be true, I discover that I am wrong. Fact checking keeps me out of trouble.
Taking risks and learning new skills is part of the transformative college experience. I advocate that faculty members continuously learn new skills outside our areas of expertise so that we can better understand what our students go through learning the new skills we are teaching them. For example, a colleague tells the story of how learning to square dance made her a better accounting professor. Does repossessing a car make me a better professor of history and English? I think it does.
Students do not always see the practical applications of what we are teaching them. Sometimes, we don’t even know the value of those skills in our own lives until we are confronted with a new situation. Who could have predicted that what I learned in college could prepare me to steal a car I already owned?
- –Steven L. Berg, PhD
Photo Caption:
Steven L. Berg 
Beth 
Robby Bristol
Selling your broken auto for hard cash to a good and
dependable damaged car dealership is likely to lower out a
whole lot of problems. One can very easily find various junk removal companies.
You can call your Attorney General’s office to find out the state of limitations in your own state.