If you find a plastic bottle left on the hood of your car, be careful, you could be in danger 😲😱… I had no idea about this until this woman warned me 😲Check the first comment to know more👇🏻

In recent years, social media has been filled with warnings about how criminals might mark vehicles to target victims.
While some authorities call these stories “urban legends,” it’s still smart to stay alert.

One woman, Hailey West, shared a chilling experience that’s now gone viral.
After finishing her shopping trip, Hailey was walking back to her car when a strange man approached her.

“He yelled, ‘Hey, what’s your name?’” Hailey said. She ignored him and kept walking, but he kept following her across the parking lot.
The man then pointed to a nearby Lexus and said, “Go check out my car, do you like it?” Hailey refused to engage, worried it might reveal which car was hers — though she suspected he already knew.

Instead of getting in her car, she quickly crossed the street and waited until she felt safe.

When Hailey finally returned to her car, she noticed something strange — a plastic water bottle sitting on the hood.

After she posted her story online, another user warned her: criminals sometimes use objects like bottles to distract you.
The idea is to make you get out of your car after you start driving — giving them a chance to steal your car or worse.

The advice?
If you find something strange like a bottle on your car, don’t get out right away.
Just drive off — the bottle will fall off on its own.

Stay safe and stay aware!

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I always hated my father because he was a motorcycle mechanic, not a doctor or lawyer like my friends’ parents. The embarrassment burned in my chest every time he roared up to my high school on that ancient Harley, leather vest covered in oil stains, gray beard wild in the wind. I wouldn’t even call him “Dad” in front of my friends – he was “Frank” to me, a deliberate distance I created between us. The last time I saw him alive, I refused to hug him. It was my college graduation, and my friends’ parents were there in suits and pearls. Frank showed up in his only pair of decent jeans and a button-up shirt that couldn’t hide the faded tattoos on his forearms. When he reached out to embrace me after the ceremony, I stepped back and offered a cold handshake instead. The hurt in his eyes haunts me now. Three weeks later, I got the call. A logging truck had crossed the center line on a rainy mountain pass. They said Frank died instantly when his bike went under the wheels. I remember hanging up the phone and feeling… nothing. Just a hollow emptiness where grief should be. I flew back to our small town for the funeral. Expected it to be small, maybe a few drinking buddies from the roadhouse where he spent his Saturday nights. Instead, I found the church parking lot filled with motorcycles – hundreds of them, riders from across six states standing in somber lines, each wearing a small orange ribbon on their leather vests. “Your dad’s color,” an older woman explained when she saw me staring. “Frank always wore that orange bandana. Said it was so God could spot him easier on the highway.” I didn’t know that. There was so much I didn’t know. Inside the church, I listened as rider after rider stood to speak. They called him “Brother Frank,” and told stories I’d never heard – how he organized charity rides for children’s hospitals, how he’d drive through snowstorms to deliver medicine to elderly shut-ins, how he never passed a stranded motorist without stopping to help. “Frank saved my life,” said a man with tear-filled eyes. “Eight years sober now because he found me in a ditch and didn’t leave until I agreed to get help.” This wasn’t the father I knew. Or thought I knew. After the service, a lawyer approached me. “Frank asked me to give you this if anything happened to him,” she said, handing me a worn leather satchel. That night, alone in my childhood bedroom, I opened it. Inside was a bundle of papers tied with that orange bandana, a small box, and an envelope with my name written in Frank’s rough handwriting. I opened the letter first. 👇

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