When my sister and I were home in Minnesota over the holidays, my mom rented a car from a borderline sketchy agency that rents on the cheap to drivers younger than the typical minimum rental age. After we returned the car together last week, she reminded me of this comforting anecdote:
The summer before I went to Chile as an exchange student, my mom made a similar rental from the same agency so that I could drive to work at a local garden store. For two months, I trolled the streets of Minneapolis in a Mitsubishi sedan tricked out with a laughably unnecessary spoiler.
Little did I know what we would eventually find. The day we were to return the car, my mom and I checked it thoroughly to make sure I hadn't left anything under the seats or tucked away in the glove compartment.
We were surprised to find a large plastic case sitting in the trunk, which I apparently hadn't opened all summer. Wanting to make sure the mysterious object wasn't some forgotten possession of mine, my mom opened it and, naturally, found A GIANT RIFLE.
Needless to say, the gun wasn't mine, and -- also needless to say -- we were more than shocked. I'd been driving around all summer with a deadly weapon in my trunk. Good thing I hadn't been pulled over.
We were never clear on the full story, but apparently one of the guys who worked at the agency had left his gun in the trunk of one of his company's cars. I have no idea why it would occur to him to stash his heat in a vehicle soon to be in the hands of an anonymous college student, and I also find it hard to fathom why my mom stuck with the agency this time around.
I guess this just goes to show that weird things can happen at home, too.
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