The tower is the dude who tows your car. Like this one time in my youth I was enamored of a fine young honeypot, so I was easily given to help her carry up her groceries to her apartment, and to help her put them away, and when in the course of human events she spilled something in the fridge while putting stuff away, to help her clear out everything in the fridge and clean the spill and put everything back comfortably where it went. But what I'd forgotten, in all this excitement, was that I'd never actually "parked" my car but had simply left it in front of the apartment building, hazard lights blink-blink-blinking, anticipating that I would just run the groceries up and run back down and out to properly park. But in the rush of the great-and-sticky grocery-spill debacle of nineteen hundred and eighty-something, and certain stickily pleasurable entanglements to follow, the location of the car was long forgot. Until some hours later I came down and found the Tower had struck. The car was gone. Towed.

Fool that I was in those days, I hadn't even locked the door. So I guess I ought to have been pleased that it turned out it had simply been towed and not stolen, but that tower could have been nice enough to turn off my hazard lights so they wouldn't run out my battery. But no such luck, so once I got to where the tower had towed my car and had bailed it out of hock, I learned I could not leave it on that lot and had to get a completely different tower to come tow my car to a friend's father's auto shop. Not the only time I've been struck by the Tower, but surely the one which sticks most deeply in my craw.