The World rarely cuts me a break, but it did today.
Last Saturday, I noticed that the front license plate, and the plastic frame that fastened it to the car, were gone from my very old car.
Today, I visited places I've driven to recently, on the edge of desperation and madness. My calendar said I was at the car wash a week ago.
The car wash lady had it, in a box with other objects fallen off autos.
Upshot: I don't have to re-register the car with Nevada DMV.
This plate's the third linked to my favorite TV show. The first plates, late 1970s era, were on my sports car when it was stolen. Reno PD found it a month later, with fraudulent plates. The policeman speculated that my plates were in a trash bin or in the sagebrush.
I kept the new car I bought when the Z vanished, and got new personalized plates. DMV would not re-issue my original plates.
Four years later, the back plate was gone off the new car's bumper. I re-registered again, gaining my current plates. At that time, my original plates had been issued again, in Las Vegas.
Thank you, car wash lady and your box.
Thank you, World. I take back most of what I said about you lately.
Vulcan. Vulcan2. Vulcan9.
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