My career as a crash test dummy was over the moment I let William Lloyd Roebuck stuff me in his rolling, janitor's trash bin.

Thus began my trek on the Dummy Underground Railroad.

William Lloyd Roebuck, Will, grew up the son of a department store manager. From a young age he would spend his time playing with all the mannequins in his father's store, dressing them up, calling them by name, and even inviting his favorites over for sleepovers.

Then, one life-altering day, his father bought a new "shipment" of mannequins and threw the "old" ones in the dumpster. Tears streamed down his freckled face, as he watched the dump truck haul away his helpless friends.

From that moment on, Will was a man with a mission. He vowed not to rest until all dummies, mannequins, and lifelike replicas were at last set free (or free at last, I forget which). Although his operation was really just a one-man show, he developed an increasingly diverse network of supporters and co-conspirators.

I was hauled out of the factory via the trash bin. I'm glad I don't feel pain because I was twisted up like a pretzel for over an hour while he completed his rounds (so as not to arouse suspicion). When security wasn't looking, Will threw me in his trunk, under the rug where his spare tire usually rested.

For the next week while the hunt for me was intense, I hid in a secret room in Will's grandmother's attic, until it was time to flee Michigan. Then, Will dressed me in overalls and a straw hat and stashed me in a truck full of illegal Canadian immigrants escaping to the South.

Free at last, eh! (except for that unfortunate "eh" habit I developed)