1949 Buick Roadmaster as WMD

I've used this photo for something else, but I needed it again

It's been a while since I've posted a family story. I still have a bunch of them, so I better get to steppin'...

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The car in this photo is a 1949 Buick Roadmaster. It was given to us by the county of Los Angeles in an effort to "help" my mom get a "legal" job and to get us off of welfare. Up until that time we hadn't had a car since I was in Kindergarten. That's a period of eight years.  The car was in pretty good shape considering that it was free.  It was as solid as a Sherman tank but she very seldom drove it.

It was rare that we saw our mom at all on weekends.  Usually she took off on Friday and we didn't see her again until late Sunday night, or Monday when we got home from school.  

One Saturday morning, my mom was already home when I woke up. That was rare enough in itself and I was very surprised.  When my mom told me to get in the car, because we were going for a ride, I was flabbergasted.  As we were walking out the door the phone rang. My mom answered it and had a pretty intense conversation with whomever was on the other end.  Just before she slammed the phone down she yelled into the mouth piece, "I told you, I'll take care of it!"  She then nodded me towards the front door.

I had no idea where we were going. Maybe a Saturday morning breakfast? Not a chance, I honestly cannot remember a single time that I ate with my mom in a restaurant before the age of 16. Maybe a little shopping?  Nope! Remember, I was on my own financially as of 7th grade. I was baffled, so I asked her where we were going. She responded with all the motherly nurturing I was accustomed to, "don't fucking worry about it, just get your ass in the car!" I know this is nothing new to many of you, but I've picked up quite a few readers lately.  So to you new folks, say hello to my mother...

We drove down Atlantic Avenue and turned left into a shopping center. Near the rear was a bar called "the back door."  My mom drove around the lot as if she was looking for something. She finally pulled into a parking spot between two other cars. I started to get out, but she told me to sit tight.

She unlatched her door, but didn't open it. Instead, she slowly swiveled her head around, as if she was looking for somebody. Then, much to my surprise, she slammed her door into the car next to us. I wasn't expecting it and jumped in my seat.  She looked around again. Then she REALLY slammed it into the car. She did it again and again. I could see that the door of the car next to us was getting badly dented.  She must have done it 10 times as hard as she could!  I'm sure a lot of you (who've been around for a while) aren't surprised by this. I wasn't either; the lady was violent and crazy.

My mom surveyed the damage as if it was a work of art, put the car into reverse, and with a smile on her face, backed out of the parking spot. We were just about to pull away when she put the car back into neutral.  She took another look around the lot and when she was apparently satisfied nobody was watching, pulled an ice pick out of her purse and got out of the car. She calmly walked around the other vehicle and stuck the ice pick into all four tires.

I'm sure my eyes were as big as saucers when she got back in and closed the door. She put our car in gear and drove away, but not before admiring herself in the rear view mirror...