Would You Buy a Car from City Tow? Two Women Try to Outsmart the Corrupt System

You see them routinely booted on the street and may know the utter feeling of disbelief and shock when your car is gone. But it’s the horror stories that give City Tow a name that is synonymous with angst, anger, and avarice. An overwhelming number of complaints of car muggings made City Hall look as if it was in partnership with a baby-seat snatching ring. Stealing personal belongings out of a towed car is, after all, rubbing salt into a wound. The people have spoken and City Tow will turn in their last set of keys and hang up the chains for good by the time this hits the press. Needless to say, when my friend Mary called with the newest and hottest lead on where to find a great deal on a used car, my heart stopped when she suggested the City Tow Auction.

Now Mary is a very practical woman and solid in spirit as she is tall. Beautiful long hair and flawless complexion softens her very straight-shooting, plain-speaking demeanor. She was interested in selling her failing1990 Acura and get something more reliable, and I was wheel-less, so we joined forces to search for cars. We drove laps around the Bay two weekends in a row eyeballing used cars, but to no avail. We had exhausted craigslist and suffered from Female Automotive Dysfunction (FAD), the erroneous belief that the female gender doesn’t understand things automotive. We were desperate women without pride, money, or mechanic. I could feel the sharks circling down at City Tow.

Mary insisted that we only needed a car to get from point A to point B. “City Tow cars are going for maybe $500 or $600, which leaves us wiggle room for repairs, right?” she saids. The reasoning seems logical, but she sees my hesitation. “Look, if we buy under Blue Book, we can’t get hurt!” She continues with a walk through the worst-case scenarios and explained away each snafu with a protective measure. The final measure being, we can always sell to recoup our investment and perhaps make money on the deal. My sense of foreboding, battling with my morbid curiosity of City Tow, made my mind an oscillating mess. A decision had to be made, and as she was the alpha female of the moment, I caved in. “Okay, okay,” I said. “Let’s go down and check it out this Wednesday. This will be the reconnaissance mission. Buy nothing, and try to look natural.”

The Reconnaissance Mission
“Where the hell is this joint?” Mary yells at the windshield. We are stopped for the18-wheeler doing an 18-point U-turn on Illinois Street. An impatient cement truck trying to squeeze by prolongs the congestion. Finally, we turn left on 22nd between a high voltage farm and a container storage yard. The road dead ends and parking is available on either side of the road. We find rock star parking close to the gate.

A small Guatemalan man opens the gate and a crowd of 40 tough-looking characters push through. They descend the long cement ramp onto what looks like a movie set for On the Waterfront . Huge paned glass warehouses seem to stand still in time but creak with the wind. The corrugated metal is streaked with years of rust and offer only minor shelter to the cars that fit inside. We follow the guys behind the warehouse to a small dirt lot. The location seems so improbable by its remoteness. Cars are parked two or three deep on either side with a road down the middle. Windshields are marked up with a grease pencil and a fluorescent orange spray that indicates some kind of inventory control.

The Preview
Hoods are popped, doors hang open, and humans are crawling everywhere. This is the hour preview before the auction starts; everyone is getting busy. The biggest caveat in this whole game is you cannot start the cars. You must be capable of assessing a car’s value and condition by other means. You can test the batteries, check the fluids, tires, mileage, check out the interior, and find the date of the last registration as well as VIN number. It’s this “Vegas” element that gets you hooked. You could walk away with a ’97 Honda for under a grand or you could be paying for the privilege of abandoning the car right there after you pay the man. Starting the car at the end of this game is the culmination of your acuity in all things mechanical and car related. It is the moment of truth.
There is “The Red Herring Factor.” Say a guy wants a specific car, but not the bidding competition. Mud smeared and dollop around the engine might fool a novice into passing on the car. Radiator caps are taken, dipsticks go missing, and loud disparaging remarks are made. This kind of sabotage is prevalent.

We have resisted succumbing to FAD long enough to formulate a list of criteria that we will look for in a car. We figure a ’95 or newer, hatchback, reliable, decent looking, good gas mileage, no more than 100K on the odometer. I want an automatic while she wants a stick. Of course, we both want Parka-lish-ous-ness. There are a few cars that fit the criteria and we hover over them, watching the Hispanic mechanic pull the dipstick. Loitering near a Honda, we overhear some gold-tooth gangster moan about the wear on the tires. Small crowds form around the Asian guy in overalls with what looks like a battery tester.

The Auction
The Auctioneer resides in a motorized bandstand that moves to the far end of the lot and preps the crowd over a loudspeaker on how the auction works. Cash only; you must pay a $100 deposit at the time of winning the bid. Bids start at $150 and buyer pays only back registration but not back tickets. For this reason, you cannot buy your own car back. The cash is due by 4 p.m. that day. There are approximately 70 cars awaiting new owners.

At 10 a.m. sharp, all car hoods are slammed shut and doors close, the preview is over. A City Tow employee places an orange cone atop each car being auctioned. The action is fast. The loudspeaker crackles and comes alive with a “Jeepers Creeper, a ’92 jeep. Who will start me at $150? $200, $250, do I hear $300?” Hands shoot up and bidding is in full swing. The Jeep goes for $600. Next up, “It’s Honda time, do I hear $400.” We watch the crowd and take in some of the characters that are there. Of course, we are the only white women there, a fact I find thrilling. I imagine them looking at us and wondering what hood are we slumming from. Mary is fearless, deadpan and goes right ahead and asks these dudes questions. I see the surprise in their faces and the amused looks they give us. Soon we have our own group giving us advice and telling us about other auctions. It feels good not to stand so far out of the group.

We meet the man in the straw hat. He is “The Man” at City Tow. He gives us a tour of the inside of the warehouse. We elbow each other as we walk past a pile of baby seats, books, and other obvious personal belongings. Neither of us was going to bring it up, but we wonder about the stories we’ve heard. I ask, “What’s happening with the change over?” He offers that City Tow could not control their employees coming to work early and ransacking the cars. That matched up with the news stories we heard. Expressing some feigned shock, we return to the auction. There was a bit of excitement going on and he quickly excused himself.

A tired, worn out Chevy is under the orange cone. Two black guys are holding their hands up in a continuous bid of defiance. The car might be worth $600 but it is up to 5 grand and everyone is talking to their neighbor about it. It gets hot, 8 grand and then10 grand and the auctioneer pauses for breath and confers with the “Straw-Hat” man. Auction rules of cash only are reiterated over the loudspeaker and there are nods of understanding from the two bidders. Their hands stay up and the Auctioneer’s voice rattles off the 11 grand, 12 grand, and all the way up to 20 sweet ones! The place is buzzing, speculation of drugs and money spread through the crowd. Everyone will talk to you now; everyone wants to know what’s happening, why would they do that? And what do you think is in the car? Mary starts to back away, thinking this might be one of those moments where you buy the farm.

Suddenly, it was as if they pulled the plug on a hot jamming DJ. They cancelled the bids and said the car was not for sale. Boos and disappointment hung in the air and the rest of the cars didn’t seem half as attractive as that Chevy with a crowd still milling around it. “Straw Hat” comes over and he says it may contain evidence like a gun or perhaps drugs stashed somewhere in the car. He tells us the SFPD have been notified, and will investigate tomorrow. I’m thinking his employees are going to get an especially early start in the morning.

Week Two
At 8:30 a.m., we check the list posted on the entrance gate for today’s auction, carefully writing down all the cars that fit into our still developing system. We refer to the Blue Book Bible and have noted each car’s minimum trade-in value and maximum private party value. If we don’t bid over the trade in value, we can’t get hurt too badly. Nine cars meet our criteria. Gems that stand out are a ’97 Geo Metro, a ’93 Subaru Impreza, and ’92 and ’96 Hondas.

We walk like veterans down the ramp and start to scout the cars. Some on the list are missing; others have front ends bashed in. It comes down to three cars. The cone is on the hood of the ’97 Geo Metro. We choke and it goes for $600, much to the disgust of Mary. “Are we here to buy a car or what?” she laments. “Straw Hat” comes over and finds us giving the Subaru a very close once over. He agrees that it’s a good buy and figures it will go for $800 to $1,000. Its Blue Book values are $975 on the low end and $2,275 on the high end. “Straw Hat” explains, “If it’s Japanese, a sporty coup, has a leather bra or spoiler on the back, these guys will bid it up. Sedans and family cars are not desirable to this crowd. Your best deal is a late model sedan that goes for 2 grand. These guys don’t have a lot of money and won’t pay for an expensive car.” We can see the evidence of his logic as a beat-up Honda with a spoiler is hitting the $1,200 mark. We ask about the $20,000 Chevy. He says the cops came down and didn’t find anything. He figured the guys were just messing with the auctioneer. We say nothing and act natural.

We are waiting for the auctioneer to get to the Subaru. While we wait we do another once over. The inside is really dirty, but the fluids checked out and the body is in fine shape. A manual transmission means it’s a car for Mary. So now here we go. The loudspeaker says it’s Subaru time and the bidding starts at $150. There is a short Mexican guy bidding against Mary but his heart isn’t in it. “Sold for $800 to da ladies,” like we just won a wet T-shirt contest. “Straw Hat” comes by and congratulates us on a fine purchase. We go to the bandstand and pay the deposit. Now Mary transforms from an intrepid bidder to a hand-wringing whimpering mess. “Oh, my God,” she laments with buyer’s remorse. “What if it doesn’t start?” I reassure her that it will and suggest we get lunch in the Dogpatch until the line at the cashier’s trailer is manageable.

When we return, there is no line, and we waltz up to the window and pay the balance. Then you get the DMV paperwork and a piece of paper for the forklift driver to go fetch your car. It’s a long, unexplained wait, last minute rummaging. As cars get delivered to their new owners, crowds form around popped hoods. The moment of truth has arrived. Loud shouts and groans are heard as a puff of smoke belches out of a Honda’s tailpipe. The loud knocking engine gives one last bang and dies. “Now that is NOT a good sign, man, she blew a rod.” I turn to see the diamond-tooth gangster shaking his head. Instinctually, I run my tongue over my front teeth, imagining what that might feel like. Are they heavy? Do you brush with jewelry cleaner? Mary, who is approaching meltdown, breaks my fixation. “Where the hell is my car?” I try to draw her attention to all the other cars that are driving up the ramp. “Say look, there goes the Geo Metro! The one that got away.”