Christine had asked me to watch the movers to make sure they brought everything off the truck. But I got distracted by someone talking to me about my Rambler. Suddenly the moving truck door was rolling shut, they were leaving, and not only had I not visually verified that everything was off the truck, I hadn’t even noted their license plate. All I had was a first name and a cellphone number. I panicked. My heart raced. I made a snap decision to hop in my car and try and catch up with them to at least get a license plate. I jabbed the stickshift into gear and hit the gas, ready for a Starsky and Hutch-style pursuit. But I didn’t go anywhere – instead, a horrible, ungodly whine rose up from beneath the car. No! Stepping on the gas now did nothing. Conversely, putting it in park didn’t keep it still – it slowly rolled backwards until I engaged the parking brake. I didn’t have time to berate myself for whatever I had done. It was after 4pm – I had to call the Auto Club and get the car towed to my garage. So now it was 5pm on moving day, we had no movers, and I was without my car. What next?