Clyde and His Niece

Fifteen years ago, I picked my uncle up from jail. He was released after serving less than half of his twenty-year sentence for robbery. My mother had given me instructions to drop him off at a bus station as soon as possible after retrieving him.

When my uncle got in my car, he announced his desire for a cheeseburger. I took him by a local fast food place. Then I took him to a local ice cream parlor for a sundae. Then we went to see the most current new release. By then, I offered to let him sleep at my apartment since the bus line had ceased operations for the day.

By the way do you need car insurance right now no deposit?

Throughout the night I listened to my uncle tell stories of my cousins, his children. He seemed so desperate to see them, I offered to drive him to Indiana to visit them. He refused, but asked if he could borrow my car to drive himself. The next morning, I called my insurance agent to price short term insurance to cover any accidents that might occur during his journey. My agent informed me that my uncle was uninsurable since he was a convicted felon. Skeptical, I asked about temporary insurance to cover the trip if I accompanied my uncle. The short term car insurance (You can buy them here in the UK) policy was drawn up and paid for within minutes.

My uncle and I left my apartment three days after he arrived. I was surprised by the amount my home state had given my uncle upon his release. I knew he was arrested with nothing, but through the generosity of the penitentiary system, my uncle was able to pay for each meal we had during the first day of our drive half-way across the country.

By lunchtime during our second day of traveling, I decided I wanted to eat in a restaurant instead of my car. My uncle adamantly refused, insisting that we not lose time. As I watched him enter yet another fast food joint, I became curious at the five police cars in the establishment’s parking lot. When my uncle jumped in the car empty-handed, shouting for me to floor it, my curiosity was satiated even if my hunger was not.

I did what I was told, but came to a screeching stop at the exit of the parking lot, barely missing a policeman eating, of all things, a donut, when my tires were blown out. Almost immediately, my car was surrounded by cops wielding guns. Within minutes, my uncle and I were handcuffed.

Sitting in my cell, waiting to use my single phone call to contact my dad who served another community in another state as an officer of the law, I had plenty of time to figure out how my uncle paid for our meals or, rather, how he failed to pay for our meals.

After spending a weekend in jail, I returned home and contacted my insurance agent. I was curtly informed the damage my car sustained when the police shot my tires was not covered under my regular policy or the short term one I had purchased because my vehicle was being used in the commission of a crime when the damage was sustained.

A few weeks later, my uncle was sentenced to more time in jail. The district attorney refused to press charges against me, thankfully, but did not let me off the proverbial hook unscathed. He assigned me a nickname by which my family refers to me to this day: Bonnie.

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