I Drove $1.8 Million in a Prius on a Random Thursday

Before “Do It for the Plot” Was Even a Thing

I was a courier for almost 10 years, which basically means I would take extremely random things from point A to point B, in my Prius. Sometimes I’d stay in Houston, sometimes I’d pick up in Houston and drive hours away to drop something off. I was “on call” whenever I wanted to be — if a job came up, dispatch would call and see who wanted it. The longer the run, the better the money, but if you turned down too many local jobs, you’d get bumped down the call list for the better ones. Fair enough. They had to deal with the customers, I mainly just dealt with the dispatchers.

I preferred working nights — fewer people on the road, fewer people to deal with — but most of our jobs came in during the day, so it was never not random. One day, I’d get a 2 a.m. call asking if I wanted to drive to Memphis. Another day, a 9 a.m. call asking if I wanted to go to Wichita. I never knew what I’d be doing the next week, day, or hour. I loved that.

My dispatcher, Joe, was basically my best friend. He made the job fun. One morning, I was almost done with my local runs when he called me.

“Dude, do you wanna go to Beaumont?”

“Joe, nobody wants to go to Beaumont. How much is it worth to them?”

Obviously, I took the job. It was a 1.5-hour, 75-ish mile drive. I can’t remember how much I got paid — probably around $120 — but then Joe said something that made me pay attention.

“Dude, I think someone fucked up.”

“What do you mean?” My first thought: Did Joe fuck up? Did someone call the wrong courier company? Am I about to transport something crazier than I’ve ever transported? My heart picked up speed.

For reference, here are just a few things I had transported before this:

· Some kind of helicopter part to Wichita.

· 25 pounds of human nerve tissue (more often than you’d think — we picked up all kinds of things no one wants to think about).

· An inflatable airplane slide for an airline. (They were almost never planned, so the best I could do was post “I just picked up an airplane slide, tucked all nice n’ neat in a way smaller box than. you’d expect… Who wants to party?!)

· Cadavers. (Many side stories there.)

· Eyeballs. (Eye banks are a thing. Now you know.)

· A live kidney for a transplant. Twice. (You don’t want the side story on that one.)

· A Suburban wrapped in NFL Network graphics, towing an oversized football, all the way to Denver. (That was literally my first job. Joe hooked the homie up.)

So when he said, “I think someone fucked up,” my curiosity was at full tilt boogie.

“The job is taking 100 pounds of platinum to a chemical plant in Beaumont. I think they were supposed to call for an armored car service or something… but they called us… So fuck it, ya want it?”

“Ha! Sure. Have you looked up how much 100 pounds of platinum is worth yet?” I was driving, so I couldn’t Google it.

Joe started typing. “How many ounces in a pound?”

“Sixteen.”

His immediate response was, “HOLY FUCK!”

“What?!”

“It’s over $1,000 per ounce.” His voice had gone up an octave.

“So how much is 100 pounds?”

A longer pause. Then, “Dude… that’s $1.7 million… $1,786,322, is what it came out to.”

Without missing a beat, I said, “That sounds like $1.8 million to me.” I started laughing. Because WHAT DO YOU MEAN…?

I drove straight to the airport to pick up. In cargo, a forklift guy loaded two nondescript, 50-pound barrels into the back of my Prius. I texted Joe to confirm the pickup, then called him as I pulled onto the freeway.

“The eagle has landed.”

Joe exhaled. “Man, what if this isn’t an accident? What if it’s some elaborate Ocean’s 11 shit?”

“…What the fuck?”

“I’m just saying — what if they ‘accidentally’ called us instead of an armored car, because instead of an armored truck transporting $1.8 million worth of platinum, it’s just some clueless chick with purple hair in a Prius?” He lowered his voice like someone might hear him. “What if you’re in a heist and don’t know your role yet?”

“BITCH, DON’T TELL ME THAT!!!” I was laughing, but also not laughing.

Joe had gotten in my head. What if this is a setup? What if I’m about to be ambushed? Well, I know I don’t wanna be in the car if/when that happens. At this point, I was starving anyway, so I exited 59 to find food (yes, by George Bush Intercontinental Airport, thank you for asking). I stopped at a taqueria in a nearly empty strip mall, sat by a window, and ate migas soaked in queso while watching my 2012 Prius-C, now worth almost $2 million, sit in the parking lot.

I ran through a mental list of people I knew who could make me disappear to Costa Rica. Unfortunately, they were all dead or in jail. Not saying I’d actually do it, but it was a fun thought.

Once I finished eating (and my secret moment of plotting international theft), I grabbed a Mexican Coke for the road and kept driving.

The chemical plant was deep in Beaumont, past miles of industrial wasteland. Gravel roads. Surveillance signs. A possible drone. It was all very top secret government conspiracy energy. I called the customer: “Hey, I’m here, but this place is huge, and I don’t want to end up somewhere I shouldn’t be.”

He told me where to meet him — at an intersection of two dirt roads, maybe 50 feet from a railroad track. When we got out of our cars, he signed the paperwork, then chuckled as I opened my hatchback.

“Did they tell you what this was?”

I laughed. “Yeah. If I had better friends, I’d be in Costa Rica right now.”

He laughed. I laughed. And then I watched my $1.8 million drive off into the sunset.

Just kidding. It was 2 p.m., and I was on the Texas/Louisiana state line. No way was I sticking around in that oppressive heat. Even when a breeze comes, it just feels like a Mastiff is breathing on you, which almost makes it worse. I had no interest in finding out firsthand whether weed mattered to a chemical company’s security search. That’s not the plot twist I wanted.

Instead, I drove to Port Arthur to see the replica of Janis Joplin’s painted Porsche. Because my cousin wasn’t at his alligator sanctuary.

My pics didn’t turn out that great, as you can see.