My dad has a tendency to give me “presents.” These generally consist of things he has no use for (see: massage chair, undersized bicycle, wobbly office chair). A few years ago, this present consisted of his old Cadillac, a 1986 black Fleetwood Brougham that I promptly nicknamed Cadzilla. It still ran fine, but the AC was dead, the stereo didn’t work without a Rube Goldberg attachment, and it could cost around $75 to fill the tank.<\/p>\n
I drove it for a while as a second car to balance out my old Saturn, but gave up on the thing a few years ago. Since then, it’s been sitting in my driveway, or in the yard beside the house. I kept meaning to donate the thing to charity, but never got around to it till two weeks ago.<\/p>\n
I started out by calling the Salvation Army. I figured they’d appreciate rolling out in a giant black Caddy on their way to fight damnation or whatever. They might even trick it out and make it a hopper, I thought.<\/p>\n
Only problem was, the Salvation Army wouldn’t come out to pick it up. They insisted that I drive it to their drop-off point. In Newark, NJ.<\/p>\n
Now, there are a number of factors that mitigated against this, starting with: the car needed a new battery and tires; the insurance and registration were expired; there’s no way I’m going into Newark in a big black Cadillac and making it out alive.<\/p>\n
So it was on to Plan B: googling “donate car to charity”.<\/p>\n
This led me to the American Diabetes Association. Two weeks ago, I filled out their online car donation form and figured I’d hear back promptly.<\/p>\n
A week later, I decided to call to check on the status of my donation. Their rep said they’d received the donation-form, sent it on to the local tow company they use, and had no idea why I hadn’t been contacted. They gave me the number of the company and asked me to arrange the pickup.<\/p>\n
I called, and was told to call another number. That led to an answering machine. I left my message, waited a day to hear back, and called again. I hung up on the answering machine this time, peeved that it was such a hassle to give something away.<\/p>\n
So I went on to Plan C: the American Cancer Society.<\/p>\n
I filled out their online donation form, and got an immediate e-mail response that they’d be in touch to schedule the pickup. Well done, I thought.<\/p>\n
Then the tow company for the American Diabetes Association called back to schedule their pickup.<\/p>\n
Did I feel a little trepidation over saying, “Between Saturday and Tuesday is fine”? Yes, I did. Did I tell them that I’d just re-donated Cadzilla to the ACS? No, I didn’t. In the off chance that the ACS actually sent a tow truck without calling to schedule it, I figured they could duke it out with the ADA guys, tire-irons a-flyin’.<\/p>\n
Yesterday, I got home and found that Cadzilla was gone. There was a letter from the ACS in my mail, with a form to fill out to get a tax writeoff for Cadzilla. Now, I’m pretty sure that the ADA guys took the car, if only because there was no call back from the ACS, but the ADA guys didn’t leave a receipt for the car, as they mentioned on the phone.<\/p>\n
At least Cadzilla’s gone to charity, but I feel bad because I’m going to have to lie to one of the groups about why the car is already gone. Maybe I can tell them that the Salvation Army took it.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
My dad has a tendency to give me “presents.” These generally consist of things he has no use for (see: massage chair, undersized bicycle, wobbly office chair). A few years ago, this present consisted of his old Cadillac, a 1986 black Fleetwood Brougham that I promptly nicknamed Cadzilla. It still ran fine, but the AC … <\/p>\n