I had hope to post this sooner, but it’s been a rough day. I was excited to attend a great film workshop in Detroit this morning, a boot camp for boom mic operators. It was educational, showing how to hit the sweet spot without going in to frame, how to adjust the length of the mic pole and how to deal with difficult sound engineers. They also went over some basic arm strengthening exercises so we could hold the mic for longer periods of time. The teacher said I was pretty strong but suggested I wear platform shoes because I was too short.

Still I met a lot of great people and was pretty fired up when I left. As always, the cold hand of reality wasted no time in bitch slapping me. I recently had my Jeep’s engine replaced after going carless for over a month. So I know how hard it is to be stuck without wheels. When I saw two guys on the side of the road with a flat tire, my heart went out to them. Normally I would drive on by, but something made me pull over.

They were standing outside their VW arguing over what to do. In German. I asked if I could help. They asked if I spriched Duetch. I said Ein Bitchin. They shook their heads. I decided it was best not to rely on my one year of college German, and went with sign language. I motioned that they open their trunk so I could pull out their jack.

I’ve never actually changed a tire myself but I’ve seen it done a couple times. I placed the jack under the car and started cranking it up. I guess your not supposed to have it on the edge of the car because the frame bent a little. The Germans cringed, but I smiled like that was normal. Then I tried to loosen the bolts on the wheel. It took me just two cranks to strip the bolt. I should not be allowed to touch anything mechanical.

The Germans were outraged at first, and argued with each other loudly. I tried to pick out any word but all I got was “retardieren”. One of them took a deep breath and came back to me. He asked me in broken english where the closest Wal-Mart was. I wasn’t sure how that would help, but I called information to find out. They put me through to one that was four miles south. I then tried to convey directions to him in a way he would understand. Gehen drei kilomoters und recht machen. Oder was ist links? I was regretting that I dropped that last semester of German, when suddenly I heard my engine start.

The German had distracted me just long enough for his friend to hotwire my Jeep. He said “Tchus!” and jumped in my car. They took off before I could even comprehend what happened. My car was a good kilometer away before I snapped out of it. I called 911 and told them what happened.

I stood out on the cold highway for an hour before the state trooper showed up. I went over all the details with him and he did not seem surprised. Apparently I was not the first victim of this scam. He said their names were Hans and Fritz Gruber and they were wanted for several counts of car theft. He said my Jeep was probably across the Canadian border now, where it would be scrapped and sold for parts on the Quebec black market.

The police were nice enough to buy me tickets for a Greyhound and I took a bus up to Flint. From there I took a cab back to Saginaw which only cost me $200 in fare. That was tough, but the worst part was my rollerblades were in my car, so now I can’t even blade to my next film workshop. I guess I’ll just have to focus on being the best boom mic holder in the business. I’m walking to Payless tomorrow to get some taller shoes.