I thought I was just going to the gym last night, but as I circled the parking lot waiting for a spot to open up, I noticed an old Jaguar stayed right on my tail. After doing a u-turn, I saw that he was trying to get my attention.
"Excuse me, miss. I noticed that you need some bodywork done on your car. I can do that for you right now."
Oh believe me, I was skeptical. I told him "no, thanks" and explained that I'd just gotten an estimate from my insurance company and planned to take it into a shop next week. But he insisted I let him demonstrate just some of what he could do. And when he mentioned the price he would do it for, he hit me where I was vulnerable. I did not want to pay that insurance deductible. Not for a car that is ten years old and has numerous little dings and scratches thanks to D.C. parking. And especially not because let's be honest, I'd rather spend it on upcoming trips.
So I consented to parking and allowing him to demonstrate his magic. Meanwhile, I phoned KC inside and asked her to come out for moral support.
Unlike my usual mode of operation, I forgot to call my father for his sage advice on all things car-related, and I went ahead and allowed the gentleman to begin work on my car right there in the gym parking lot. I was totally multi-tasking by doing my own body work in the weight room!
I knew the paint job wouldn't be stellar. What can you expect in one hour outside of a body shop? But at least the dent would be gone, and I'd be able to order my light cover and pass my safety inspection this month.
The story continues as I run around in an attempt to pay the man in cash, but I'll spare you the complex details of that part. I'm just glad KC was along for the ride - or rather, she gave me a ride!
By the end of the evening, I was at CVS purchasing AmEx cash cards for my new mechanic friend and KC was at the grocery store, the one I'd somehow driven past TWICE failing to make the necessary turn into the parking lot.
"Let's bake biscuits," she said over the phone. "Doesn't that sound good?"
Ohmygosh, that sounded so good! Nothing like a comforting snack of biscuits to make you feel better about a rash decision.
So she came over, met my new house, and baked golden brown biscuits. When she left, she said I could save the last two for my roommates.
But you know I ate them myself.