The junk in my trunk.

So there I was. At the George H. Bush Intercontinental Airport in Houston, Texas. I just landed fifteen minutes ago. My fiance was supposed to pick me up, but overslept. At this hour, rush hour will be hectic, and it'd be quicker for me to rent a car, then to get him here.

I go over to the Budget counter and see quite the line. Apparently it's also rush hour here. I plunk down my carry on and let go of the suitcase I'm pulling. I want to sit. What I really want is a drink, but I'd take a bench right about now, too. Seven minutes later I'm third from the front. Not bad. We're moving right along here.

Twenty three minutes later I'm at the window. Looks like I spoke too soon.

"I need a car. I don't care the make, model, year, anything. I just need a car." Yeah, I'm a bit cranky.

The clerk behind the desk hands me the papers, I hastily fill them out. I am handed the keys to a 1981 Chevy Citation.

"I thought car rental places dealt with, uh, new cars. " I said, eyebrow raised, tone in my voice.

The clerk would have none of it. "You said you didn't care. This is what I have left. No one else will take it. It's not even supposed to be ours. Someone dropped it off here instead of bringing it back to the other location where they deal in all types of vehicles. Look at it this way. It's cheap, it's here. You can go now."

"Thanks" I muttered and walked away.

The parking lot was another mess. The closer it was getting to supper time, the busier it got.
As I pulled onto Beltway 8, I hear a clunk. I didn't put much thought into it.

A few miles down the road, I hear a louder thump. I turn up the radio louder and listen to 94.5 The Buzz. Even over Maroon 5 rocking out, I heard a third, very loud, thump.

"FINE!" I yell to myself as I succumb to the need to pull over.

Thinking it's one of the tires, I circle the Citation checking each one. They're all fine. Worn down, but fine. I shake my head and get back in, start driving down the shoulder to get up to speed, and then hear another thump.

Trying not to curse, I throw the car into park, get back out of the car, slam the door and stomp back to the trunk. It's the only other thing I can think of.

I then realize I don't have the key to open the trunk. So I stomp back to the driver's side door and turn off the car, take the keys out of the ignition, and go back to the trunk.

I open up the trunk, and a cold sweat covers my body immediately.

Now I know why someone left the car without returning it properly. Drugs, a gun, a rope...all in my trunk.

"What the...? What am I supposed to do now?"

Just then, a police car pulls up.

"What seems to be the matter, Miss?" he says as he walks towards me. I quickly try to shut the trunk, as I am sure no explanation would work. Too late, he saw it.

"Turn around and put your hands where I can see them!" He quickly shouts, turning from friendly to fierce in 10 seconds.

"You don't understand! This is a rental car! I found all this in here just now!" I frantically try to explain.

"Tell it to the judge." He says while snapping on the cuffs.




And so you see, Your Honor, I have nothing to do with the murder of the President. I just rented a car, because my fiance overslept.