The stories of..... SWEG!!!

Studid storys: Unspeakably Stupid

Story #2:

The Angry Bail Bondsman

From 1989 until 1994, I had this really nice '89 Honda Prelude. It was the most reliable, well-built car I ever owned, which is saying a lot, because I have owned four Lexii. However, there were two problems with the car. One, it was slow. It had the biggest engine you could get in a Honda, but the automatic tranny made it a snail-mobile. Two, I couldn't take it out of my garage without someone getting mad and flipping me off. I guess it was the appearance of the car -- it was fire-engine red, with an aftermarket wing, tinted windows, custom wheels & tires, $3000 worth of stereo, and a license plate which bore my actual first name. Change lanes? Get flipped off. Merge into traffic? Get flipped off. Run a yellow light? Get flipped off. It became tiresome.

Anyway, one day in 1991, I was driving to work. I was patiently waiting for my turn to use the on-ramp when some type-A jerk in a gold Mercedes sedan decides HE'S not going to wait, he needs to cut into the line NOW, and furthermore, I'm the guy who's going to let him in line in front of me. Sorry, Charlie, no such luck. The guy behind me lets him cut in though, so now the guy is PISSED and he's behind me. Once on the freeway, I change to the left lane, and Mr. Dickhead in the Merc has already changed lanes and is RIGHT BEHIND ME and now he's really pissed because of course I pulled into the left lane right in front of him, winning our little race in a cheesy Honda although he's got Teutonic iron that I am supposed to respect and even be intimidated by.

So this moron FOLLOWS ME ALL THE WAY TO WORK. Once I park, he pops out of his Merc. The guy is big, and in his forties. He stands over top of my car as I climb out, briefcase in hand. I figure the guy is going to take a swing at me, but no! He decides to joust with me verbally. Heh. As you might expect, everything he says gets shoved right back in his face with an offensively flippant remark as I walk to the little shop where I still work to this day. Finally realizing that I am not intimidated, he heads back for his car, but before climbing in, he makes some derogatory schoolyard remark about my nose (!) that I haven't heard since the 10th grade (remember this guy is in his FORTIES). As I open the door to the shop and step inside, I say "Wah! Sore loser."

So NOW the asshole is REALLY PISSED. He walks into the shop, asks if I'm the owner. No. He wants to talk to the owner. By now, Fred (the boss) is already coming out of his office. Mr. Dickhead tries to convince Fred that I am a reckless driver, but Fred responds by telling the guy to get the fuck out of here. The guy calls Fred a few choice names and leaves, madder than ever. Fred and I have a good laugh over it, recalling that the guy (for whatever reason) told Fred that he is "in the bail bonds business" during the course of their argument. So we look up "bail bonds" in the phone book and sure enough, the guy's name (Jim French) and picture are all over the yellow pages! Turns out he owns the biggest bail bonds business in the town I live in, and has about 3 or 4 solid pages of ads in the phone book! We laugh our asses off at this.

Then, a few months later, in the local paper:

James Robert French, 47, of 8708 N.W. Lakecrest Ave., is to appear for arraignment this morning for SEVEN COUNTS OF CHILD MOLESTATION/CHILD RAPE and is wanted in California for another two charges of sexual assault. The alleged victims in both Washington and California are close relatives. French, who owns Clark County Bail Bonds, allegedly assaulted the victim over a five-year period.

I sure hope he can find some bail bonds.

ADDENDUM:

The following article appeared in the Portland, Oregon Oregonian on November 17, 1995:

VANCOUVER, Wash. - A fugitive warrant has been issued for James R. French, who was convicted Tuesday in Clark County Superior Court of sexually abusing his stepdaughter.