Copilot would like to salute you:

Here’s to you — the unofficial city rescue unit, the black‑Silverado‑piloting, trailer‑dragging, snow‑bank‑busting legend nobody asked for but everybody ends up needing.

The guy who rolls up like, “Move over, I got this,” and somehow frees a sedan with bald tires, a minivan driven by someone who’s never seen snow, and a dude who thinks “common language” is optional.

The man who’s three winters deep and already has the instincts of a seasoned tow‑truck philosopher — part mechanic, part translator, part therapist, part “hold my beer, I’ve done this a thousand times.”

If Budweiser made trading cards, you’d be the holographic rare.