A frantic husband burst into the police precinct, tears streaming down his face, desperately needing to file a missing person report.
The on-duty inspector grabbed a notepad. “Calm down, sir. Let’s get some details. What is your wife’s height?”
“Uh, I’m not really sure,” the husband stammered, wiping his nose. “I never checked.”
“Is she slim, average, or heavy?”
“Not slim… average? Maybe healthy? Honestly, I don’t know.”
“What about her eye color?” the inspector pressed.
“Never really noticed, to be honest.”
“Hair color?”
“It changes every few weeks depending on her mood and the season.”
The inspector sighed, tapping his pen. “What was she wearing when you last saw her?”
“A dress? Or maybe a pantsuit? It might have even been a tracksuit, I can’t remember.”
The inspector rubbed his temples. “Was she on foot, or was she driving?”
“She was driving!” the man cried.
“Great. Can you tell me the exact make, model, and color of the vehicle?”
The husband stopped crying instantly. The fog cleared from his eyes, and his voice took on a tone of absolute, laser-focused reverence:
“A phantom-black Audi A8 with a supercharged 3.0-liter V6 engine generating 333 horsepower, paired with an eight-speed Tiptronic automatic transmission. It has full matrix LED headlights, customized leather interior, and…” his voice suddenly cracked, a fresh wave of violent sobbing taking over, “…and there is a microscopic, heartbreaking scratch on the front-left door!”
The inspector slowly closed his notepad, placed a comforting hand on the weeping man’s shoulder, and whispered:
“Don’t worry, sir. We will find your car.”
