Years ago there was a commercial about an idiot trapped in a dead-end job. Your boss, throughout the commercial, yells something like, “Go to Omaha.” Poor birthday boy, on the big day, he gets a call in the middle of his cake “Happy birthday, go to Omaha!”

I felt the same way. Heidelberg? Where will I go in the next three years? Heidelberg My company had transferred me. A single man, they thought he would have no objection. So I’m looking at my things, my car, my life. Is there an international moving company? They assured me that it was. Don’t worry, they said, it will be an adventure.

Now the adventure is very good, but my car is important to me. I can’t afford another. Who does international autoship anyway? How do you connect with them and make sure my baby gets from here to there, safe and sound?

I finally connected with an international car transport company recommended by a friend who had been through the same call. And so began the persecution of documents from hell. Where is my passport? Where is my pink slip? This international car transport company wanted solid proof that I really owned the thing. I sank into a VAT tax, quoted in a long series of accented English. Thank heaven they had it in writing. I was a glazed donut halfway through the explanations on customs procedures.

I have always bought American.

Several times, as I sat in the alcove of a mechanic’s office listening to the litany of repairs I was seeing, watching uninjured imports flow out, I wondered if my patriotism was being adequately rewarded. In this case, though, I was the one smirking across the desk, avoiding a tax that import owners were yelling at, paid. Maybe it wasn’t worth it, but it was finally worth it. The advice from the international auto shipper’s office went golden here. That tax could have paid my electricity bill three times.

I filed my forms with the international car transport company, certified, stamped and signed in my blood. Then I took the extra key I had created, checked for loose change in the backseat one more time, and said goodbye for a couple of weeks or so. He had paid for insurance that would have bought two new fillings and gone out for a covered car ride.

(The international car transport company had the opportunity here to fill the air above us with horror stories about cars sent anyway, unguarded and unprotected. I felt like my firstborn was being sent into a tornado, the way that spoke).

Now I am an American. I am used to sloppy service in some industries and have lost my luggage twice on airlines. I am not a newbie. So you can imagine my surprise and relief when my car appeared almost at my front door, just 3 minutes late and as healthy as an ox.

Well they weren’t delivering a pizza so I guess I can pass it up.