RIP Frank the Car

When we decided that we were going to move back to Florida we knew that we’d have to get rid of our car, Frank. Since people from the scrapyard had already expressed interest in him we decided the easiest thing to do would be to scrap him. Just writing about it even now gives me a lump in my throat.

You see, Frank was a good working class kind of car. He had calloused hands, dirty fingernails, swore a lot and liked to go down to the local to have a pint with the boys. I’m sure he was pretty good at darts too. Frank served us well. Even though he was 16 years old he only broke down once and that wasn’t even his fault, but that’s another story.

The most convenient way for us to get rid of Frank though was to sell him for scrap. Poor Frank. Here’s how it all went down.

After we drove our fifty million suitcases to the hotel near the airport, we drove Frank to the scrapyard. The scrapyard was a dusty, loud place with lots of men and lots of F words being thrown about. Just the kind of place Frank would feel right at home in. A man told us to drive Frank onto the scale and then we went into the office to find out how much we could get for him. The man at the desk told us the price and asked, “Do you have everything out of it?”

“Yes,” we said.

“All right then,” the man said. Then suddenly a giant claw came down smashed right through Frank’s sunroof and flung him about thirty feet in the air. He landed with a crash on the other side of the lot. Then a second claw picked him up and flung him again into a pile of cars at the far end of the lot.

We both stood their in shock. We were shocked for two reasons. Firstly, we’d never seen anyone throw a car before. Secondly, the scrapyard website has a little section on it about how to be environmentally friendly they must drain all the fluids from the cars before scrapping them. Unless a crew of small invisible men were busy doing that while we were finding out the price that didn’t happen.

When we moved to the UK we bought Frank from a friend for 100 pounds. When we sold him to the scrapyard they gave us 98 pounds. I think we made out pretty good. Too bad I can’t say the same for Frank. He will be missed.