The back of my car got hit by a couple a Mexicans in a pick up on Santa Monica Blvd last weekend. We all had insurance, so everything was taken care of quickly and amicably, by the side of the road, as I listened to other drivers cruise over the remnants of my tail light.
Driver: “Theeese thing happen…”
Me: “Ha – um, I’m probably the one that’s supposed to say that to you, here, but it’s ok. Can I get your name?”
Driver: “Mario (SpanishLastName).”
Me: “Ok, what’s your phone number?” He slides me his card. “Ok, here’s my info…” (A lot of writing is going on.)
Me (to passenger guy): “OK, what’s your name?”
Passenger: “Alex (Different SpanishLastName).”
Passenger: “What’s your name?”
Passenger: “Your phone number?”
Me: “5………..(He has his cell phone out)…….wait. Do you just want it to have it?”
Passenger: (Nodding yes)
Me: “Nooooooo! NOOOO, no no no…nice try.”
Serendipitously, they hit me mere inches from where that hobo head butted my car. SO! I think the whole thing will be getting fixed! Jellybean (that’s my car) = back to normal!
With his brand new tires and maybe another fresh wash, we’ll just be two girls out on the town. He’s a boy, but he’s obviously quite the wing man.