The Denty McShitmobile

The above is my loving nickname for my car.  She was originally Lola the Corolla, and that’s still her official name.  However, three years of city living took its toll, especially on the bumper and back of the car.  In a span of about three months, I managed to have THREE people hit my parked car.  Once was while I was parallel parked in the suburbs (slammed bumper, no dent but lots of paint chippage); once while I was parked in M’s condo parking lot (big dent on the trunk part above the bumper); and once in my work parking lot (round grapefruit-sized dent in corner of bumper).  Also, some wear-and-tear from the city parallel parking method whereby you gauge how far away the car behind you is by tapping it.

Now, I know what you’re thinking, and aside from the aforementioned car-tapping, I am pretty good at parking.  My grandfather taught me how to parallel park and I rock at it.  And the two worst pieces of damage were done while I was parked in a traditional parking lot, neatly between the lines and far into the space (so not sticking out or forward).  And I haven’t had any damage to the bumper since those three hit-and-runs, so apparently I was just having a very unlucky three months.

The bumper damage has had some strange side effects, though.  I really don’t care how the car looks as long as it runs and is in good shape mechanically.  If I had more money, I probably would get it fixed, but it’s just not an issue right now.  However…I have had at least four random strange men offer to fix the car.  Three times were in parking lots.  I honestly do not know what these guys are thinking.  “Hey, I’m a middle aged male and I have no idea who this young woman is, but I’m going to ask her if she’ll pay me cash to come to her house and fix her car!  Or maybe she can bring it to my place!”  REALLY?!  My car is probably my most valuable material possession and my life/safety are definitely my most valuable non-material possessions.  I will absolutely not entrust either of these to some strange guy I met in a parking lot.

The last incident was the most disconcerting, though.  M and I were upstairs at our house, and there was a knock on the door.  Now, we had the big door open, but the screen door shut and latched, to let in air and light.  I looked out the window upstairs and saw a strange (non-company) truck.  M said not to answer the door.  But then we hear a voice CALL INTO THE HOUSE.  So I went downstairs, and there is a middle-aged guy standing on the stoop.  He asks me if he can quote me a price to fix my bumper.  The bumper of my car that is parked in my driveway.  I told him that I did not have the money to fix it right now.  He said, “Even for a really good price?”  I said that no, not even for a really good price.  I did not ever open the door, and I had on my best die-in-a-fire-you-idiot look.  He scurried down the driveway.

I now want to get a bumper sticker that says, DON’T OFFER TO FIX THIS, YOU CREEP.