June 26, 2003

  • Today started out ordinary enough.   Mom, whose car's in the shop (but really probably just an excuse to get me in the right frame of mind for JOB hunting), asked me to pick her up from work; I had to take the old Chevy so we could leave it at the mechanics'.   One of those big classic shark-finned things that floats along on quake-proof shocks and lent new meaning to the term, "boat," she rarely gets any exercise, being stabled out back in the single detached garage, and was badly in need of a tuneup.   Dad bought her to restore ten years ago, but never got around to it. 


    From the moment she got wind of freedom, everything went wrong.  First, some tourists had parked in front of our driveway again, blocking my path.  They often have this problem in the business areas, but occasionally some cheapskate who can't endure the thought of paying $10.00 and up for parking makes his way up here.   As much as we hate to tow them ("I left my car, in San Francisco"), being they know where we live and the $100.00 fine, we sometimes have to, and today was such a day.   After seeing the offending car dragged off, Lizzy wouldn't start; as might be expected, her battery was dead from disuse.   By this time Dad was gone, and all the neighbors I knew as well.  So I had to call Triple A and have their emergency tow truck give me a free jump.   Just my luck, they arrived in only ten minutes, but the mechanic had to point out Lizzy's inadequate smog device.   That again?  We already had it replaced twice!   "Sorry, Miss.  New regulations."  As soon as we were off, my foot pumping the soggy brakes all the way down the hill, my eyes scanning the distorted bubbled rear view mirror like a diving mask, I noticed how much gas there was:  about two gallons, fumes to this baby.   Now that was groovy, cuz my wallet was near empty and I'd been planning to stop at the bank for cash!   


    I was crawling along on my way back through the narrow bank parking lot, thinking I'd just make it in time before Mom gave up and took the bus to the garage, when I heard the sickening horrendous C R U N CH, followed by the sound of a bull in a china closet.   Before I could even think what had happened, the owner of the china closet, a sweaty bald old man in an old suit with a huge pot belly, emerged from one of the cars parked on the right, his meek elderly wife at his side, fighting mad.  Oh, God.   Despite my "hugging the middle" as Dad had always warned to keep clear of the sides, I'd still misjudged my distance, like a nouveau fat lady who's not used to her wider hips keeps bruising herself on the furniture and door jams.   Or at least this was what I was led to believe from all the man's cursing and threats.   Fuck, my first accident.  They'd probably raise our insurance five hundred bucks.   Not quite the end of the world, but close.   I should've never had that damn car towed; the Powers That Be had seen fit to turn the tables  themselves.   My legs felt like water as I peeled myself off the rotting vinyl bench seat to own up to my responsibility.   Just what I needed on a day like this, a fuckin' record HEAT WAVE.   


    "Look what you've done, young lady!"  The blotchy-faced man hollered at the peak of his blood pressure.   "Don't you know how to drive?!!"


    Thanks to Lizzy's heavy chromed steel bumpers and unswerving weight, almost all the damage was done to his car, a relatively new economy sedan.  It was as if he'd hit a concrete wall.  The left back corner was badly dented like a beer can, and the plastic signal light cover shattered like colored glass on the ground.   That was how I noticed it, the blinking light; so, the cantankerous codger had been trying to back out!   Right when I was coming behind him, before I had time to stop.   Sure enough, his car was a couple feet out from the curb.  Now, that was rather nasty of him, taking advantage of my youth and gullibility and the fact I was stuck with this fuckin' tank to claim it was my fault!   Getting me all worried and practicing what I was going to say to my parents for NOTHING!  I would've given him a piece of my mind, had it not been for his bad hernia or abdominal tumor or colostomy bag or whatever that big unsightly lump was protruding from beneath his shirt, just above the belt line in the area of his liver.   Poor man; he probably didn't have long to live.   That certainly explained his bad temper and dishonest live-for-today approach.   Feeling sorry for him, I calmly pointed out how, from the look of things, he'd actually hit me.  


    Rattled by my legalese, he immediately shut up, exchanged anxious looks with his wife, and barked, "Well, you should've been looking!"   


    "I don't think it will be necessary to notify my insurance company,"  I continued with renewed strength and maturity.   "Hope everything works out for you!"   


    "Yeah," the wife put in.  "He's not feeling too well."


    "Sorry."


    Visibly relieved I wasn't going to penalize them in return, the couple retreated to their car and waited for me to pass.