There was a commercial years ago about a jerk stuck in a dead-end job. His boss, throughout the commercial, is yelling something like, “Go to Omaha.” The poor birthday boy, on the big day, gets a call in the middle of his cake “Happy birthday, go to Omaha!”

I felt the same way. Heidelberg? Where will I go for 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 stuff, my car, my life. Is there an international moving company? They assured me there was. Don’t worry, they said, it will be an adventure.

Adventure is fine now, but my car is important to me. I can’t afford another. Who does international car shipping, 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 shipping company recommended by a friend who had been through the same flame. And so began the search for documents from hell. Where is my passport? Where is my pink ticket? This international car transport company wanted such strong proof that I was the owner. I drowned in a tax IVA, quoted to me in a long stream of accented English. Thank God they had it written. I was a glazed donut halfway through the explanations about customs formalities.

I have always bought American.

Several times, as I sat in the alcove of a mechanic’s office listening to the litany of repairs he was looking at, watching undamaged imports pass by outside, I wondered if my patriotism was being adequately rewarded. In this case, however, I was the one looking smugly from the other side of the desk, avoiding a tax that import owners were screaming he paid. Maybe it wasn’t worth it, but it was finally worth it. The advice of the office of the international car carrier was golden here. That tax could have paid my electric bill three times over.

I filed my forms with the international auto shipping company, notarized, stamped and signed in my blood. I then took the extra key I had created, checked the backseat for loose change 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 had opted for a covered car ride.

(The international car shipping company had an opportunity here to fill the air above us with horror stories about cars being shipped haphazardly, unguarded and unprotected. I felt like my firstborn was being sent into a tornado, the way he they were talking).

Now, I am American. I am used to sloppy service in some industries and have lost my luggage twice on airlines. I’m no novice. So you can imagine my surprise and relief when my car showed up almost on my doorstep, only 3 minutes late and as healthy as an ox.

Well, they weren’t delivering a pizza, so I guess I can let it slide.