Our hotel is having issues with non-guests from the apartment complex behind us taking up parking spaces, so the hotel hired a towing company to place a boot (wheel clamp) on unauthorized vehicles. For context, we would give guests and people visiting guest parking slips to put on the dashboard of their vehicles. Also, the booting company was charging $125 to remove the boot.

[Boot Guy] comes into the hotel around 12 AM and states:

Boot Guy: “I’ve been sitting in the parking lot for the past hour. You’re probably going to have about eight people come in here before the night’s over.”

Me: “I’m good with it. There are signs around telling them not to do it, so that’s on them.”

Boot Guy: “Call me if you need me.”

Two hours later…

Booted Person #1: “There’s been some kind of mistake. There’s a boot on my car.”

Me: *Not even going through my normal spiel.* “Well, if you’re not a guest, then there wasn’t a mistake. This is private property.”

Booted Person #1: “Where else was I supposed to park?!”

Me: “At the apartment complex.”

[Booted Person #2] walks in and says:

Booted Person #2: “Why is there a boot on my car?”

Me: “Like I was telling [Booted Person #1], parking here is for guests only.”

Booted Person #2: “How are people supposed to know that?”

Me: “There are two signs in the parking lot saying so.” 

I know this because I previously checked the parking lot before coming in one night on a general principle.

Booted Person #2: “So what happens now?”

Me: “You can call that number on that paper you have in your hand and work it out with the boot company.”

Booted Person #1: “What if I don’t have the money?”

Me: “That’s between you and the boot company.”

[Booted Person #3] comes in:

Booted Person #3: “The hotel booted y’all, too?”

Me: “We didn’t, the boot company did.”

Booted Person #3: “But y’all hired them.”

Me: “We did.”

Booted Person #2: “You need to call them and tell them to take this boot off.”

Me: “That’s not going to happen.”

Booted Person #3: “So this is how y’all treat people? This isn’t good business.”

Me: “Our guests are more than welcome to park here.”

Booted Person #1: “So there’s nothing you can do?”

Me: “It’s out of my hands at this point.”

Booted Person #2: “This is bull-s***!”

Booted Person #3: “That’s f***ed up!”

Me: “Y’all have a good night.”

I worked at a bar with a three-minute zone for taxis/rideshare/whatever. The three-minute hours were 6 pm to 3 am every Friday and Saturday night. Every night, I would show up at 9 PM, and there would be three to four cars parked in that zone.

I’d call the sheriff to send a deputy and a tow truck. Every night by 10 PM, the zone would be cleared. And every night, sometime between 1 AM and 3 AM, we’d point people to the sign with the dispatcher’s number to see where the car ended up. 

This happened every weekend, but one weekend I remember specifically because one of the cars being towed was a super nice Lamborghini. Mr. Lambo comes inside in the early hours, and I do the whole “look at the sign” spiel.

Car Owner: “Why is that sign so small?!”

Me: “I don’t know. It’s not our sign. It’s the county’s.”

Car Owner: “But it’s outside your property!”

Me: “Doesn’t mean we own it. That’s on the street.”

Car Owner: “If it’s outside your property, you own it!”

Me: “I’ll remember that the next time you park your Lambo outside! My Honda is getting up there in miles, and I need a new set of wheels.”

This story reminded me of the absolutely brain cell-deleting time that “my” car was stolen.

In 1997, my parents bought a 1997 Nissan Maxima. In 2010, it became my first car. By 2013, she had 389,978 miles, and by 2014, it was clear that those cars did not like having 389,978 miles on them.

As components started to fail, I replaced them, learning quite a bit about cars in the process. I even bought a 1995 Nissan Maxima, parted it out, and rebuilt the entire front end after a minor accident, but at just under 400,000 miles, it was time to part ways as the exhaust started blowing white smoke and dripping fluid, likely indicating a failed head gasket.

I ended up picking out a lightly used Mazda 2, a CPO from a dealership that used it to run parts between their main warehouse in Honolulu and their Waipahu location. They ended up taking my Maxima in trade and were kind enough to give me $1000 for it, even though I was transparent about its numerous issues.

The Maxima was sold to a wholesaler, and I went on with life.

Five months later, the Honolulu Police Department was at my door informing me that they had found my car in Waianae, the far west side of the island. I informed them that my car was literally sitting behind them, at which point they told me that they were referring to a 1997 Nissan Maxima. 

It had been in a tow yard for the last month and had accrued a massive bill and, evidently, was still in my name. I informed the police that I no longer owned the car.

Two months later, I got a demand letter from the tow yard. 

Now… I have a friend… and his Mom… she’s one of those innocent people who is like super scary if she gets mad. Well… this made her mad.

We ended up going to Mazda and getting fresh copies of the paperwork indicating the trade-in that I was too dumb to keep hold of myself the first time. We then went directly to the wholesaler, who LIED and said they had no idea what car I was talking about. 

I gave them the VIN for both the 97 and the 95; they claimed they never had it.

I gave them the license plate number, they claimed they didn’t know what I was talking about, and I’d have to handle the tow bill myself. Then, I showed them the paperwork from Mazda, a bill of sale that indicated their purchase. They told me to leave.

So, I went straight to the towing yard, and they showed me to the car, which now had 403,000 miles and had been spray-painted white.

While speaking with the staff, they turned to me and demanded the payment, which was north of $3,000 at the time.

Me: “I am not the legal owner; the wholesaler is.”

I showed them the paperwork.

Staff: “I don’t care. Our system indicates that you’re the legal owner, and if you don’t pay the bill, then we’ll take action against you.”

We went back and forth… several times until my friend’s mom stepped in and told her, in no uncertain terms:

Friend’s Mom: “If you don’t want to get the towing company sued, you’d better read the f****** paperwork and leave [My Name] the f*** alone.”

The lady ended up rolling her eyes and actually read through the documentation before just saying:

Staff: “Fine.”

And leaving it at that.

Friend’s Mom: “We’re also requesting paperwork showing that the tow company acknowledged that [My Name] does not own the car and that the debt will not be kept in [My Name]’s name.

Staff: “Get off our property before we call the police.”

This threat was challenged by my friend’s mom, saying:

Friend’s Mom: “Do it, see what happens.”

We got the paperwork.

I ended up putting the wholesaler on blast on Yelp. This ended up angering the owner, so he replied and ended up both admitting that they had the car and then lying publicly, stating that they had “discussed” this with me.

Wholesale Owner: “As we have discussed with you, the vehicle was a throw-away. It was towed from the [BIG NAME DEALER] to a scrap yard. The repairs required were just too expensive. We do this a lot for vehicles not worth repairing. We do not tow the vehicle to our lot, register it, and then throw it away; that just adds to the cost of a disposable vehicle.

We have an excellent record with the BBB. Our information is accessible to the public at BBB.

We have been in business for six years in Pearl City and in the same business for ten years prior in Waipahu. We sell about thirty-five to forty-five vehicles a month. Four complaints in six years is not a bad record. We have many more happy customers than unhappy.”

I edited my review to call him out on his BS. To date, he hasn’t replied again. Out of thirty-seven reviews, they have seventeen one-stars.

I later found out, through the business that used to be next door to them, that the car had indeed been on their lot. They moved it to street parking while moving their inventory around and didn’t realize that the ignition could be turned with a wet noodle, so someone hopped in it and drove it off. 

I don’t know what happened to the balance due on the vehicle, but my assumption is that the tow yard auctioned it off. I looked up the plates on our local records website, eKokua. The car was last seen on the roads in 2022, pulled over for “blue lights displayed, no insurance, no vehicle registration, no safety check.” I later paid to run the VIN through another records site. 

From what I can tell, the vehicle was scrapped in 2024 with 501,000 miles on it.

The apartment complex where I live has assigned parking, and they are super strict about it. The assigned spaces are random, so your spot could be right in front of your door or all the way across the complex.

They also have a strict towing policy. Residents cannot privately tow anyone’s car, and if they do, they can be evicted. The rule is that you have to contact the office and get the manager, and the manager phones the tow company. The manager is the only one with the secret code; that way no one who lives there can tow someone willy-nilly pretending to be her. It sucks because if the office is closed, you have to wait until morning to tow the person’s car when the office opens, and they’re closed on the weekends, which leads a lot of people to lose their space for a weekend if they leave home for anything.

There are also very, very few visitor spaces.

The rules are in our leases. There are also signs that explain them and state that violators will be towed at owner’s expense, and the cost of getting your car out is $500 flat.

I just moved in, and within a week, I come home from work to find a car in my spot. Since there’s no way to tell whose car this is, and there are no visitors spots for me to park in, I have to do the thing. I go to the office, talk to the manager, and give her the license plate, and she calls.

Within thirty minutes, the driver is there hooking up the car. My parents were coming by to help me move some stuff anyway, so we chat while I wait to pull my car in. There’s a man walking into the complex with some groceries who sees the tow happening and starts chatting with us, too. I tell him I just moved in. He seems friendly until he looks at my parking space and frowns.

Man: “Oh, that’s your spot now? That’s a shame. We always tell guests to park there since nobody’s owned that spot in years.”

Me: “Oh… Well, yes, unfortunately, it was assigned to me now. I feel bad for the inconvenience to someone, but rules are rules, and I need to be able to park.”

Man: “Well, at least it’s not my car!”

He laughs as the tow truck driver finishes loading the car. My stepfather speaks hesitantly.

Stepfather: “Uh… Does anyone in your unit have a white SUV?”

Man: *Pales* “My mom does…”

We all turn to watch the car being driven away on the tow truck. The man panics and runs to his apartment, which is only a few doors away from mine, and starts yelling.

Man: “Mom! They’re towing your car!”

A woman in her mid-sixties or so comes running out, screaming, “WHAT?”, over and over. It’s February and very cold, but she ran out here in shorts and a tank top with the quickness.

I was going to apologize, but then she whips around and starts laying into me.

Man’s Mom: “WHAT THE F*** IS WRONG WITH YOU?! How could you do this to me?! That’s so wrong! You can’t do this to me! You aren’t allowed to do this!”

She starts wailing that she’s a guest here and her son told her to park there. Then, she changes her story through her screaming and says they’ve lived here for years and no one’s ever said anything about where they park. Her son turns to me and starts yelling, too.

Man: “How could you do this?! My mom can’t afford to get her car back! You should’ve knocked on people’s doors to find the owner and politely ask them to move!”

I’m a twenty-one-year-old woman, I just moved in, and I live alone.

Me: “I’m not comfortable going door to door and asking every single person in this complex if they’ve parked in my spot. I’m sorry for the trouble, but I followed the rules.”

The guy takes a few paces toward me, and that’s when my stepfather steps in.

Stepfather: “Just walk away, man. If you guys have lived here forever, like your mom says, then you were made aware of the parking rules when you moved in. If she’s a guest, this is on you for telling your mom to park in a numbered spot knowing the risks.”

The man and his mom were still screaming at us by the time my mom and I ascended the stairs to my apartment. My stepfather came in a few minutes later, saying the man’s mother had stomped down the path to the manager’s building next door. At that point, the office was closed, but we could see her from my window banging on the glass doors and screaming about the injustice of it all. We went about unpacking my apartment and shaking our heads about the whole thing.

I never heard from the man or his mother again, but I saw the man occasionally walking home with his groceries. He ignored me the rest of the time I lived there.

A buddy of mine is a tow operator. He got called out to assist the driver of an eighteen-wheeler who had miscalculated a turn and was now stuck in the mud.

Tow Operator: “Are you loaded?”

Trucker: “Yeah, as full as it gets.”

Tow Operator: “Dang. What’s your weight?”

Trucker: “Five tons.”

Tow Operator: “Wait, only five tons?”

Trucker: “Yep.”

Top Operator: “Are you loaded with pillows or what?”

Trucker: “Yep, got it in one guess.”