Velouria (velouria) wrote,

Sky Captain, World of Tomorrow.

I was sitting outside some Taqueria in my car contemplating whether to spend any of the negative 53 dollars to my name on some sort of taco, when an SUV of ginormous proportions and brimming with 10 year olds swung in beside me.

Not surprisingly, one of the 10 year olds throws her door open as hard as she possibly can, rocking me and my car off our 90 pound foundations. I formed little fists of rage and peered out my window at the fatty blotch of white paint along my car. As I utilized the jaws of life to get out of my car (.5 nanoinches from the war machine), the suspected father comes running out and recreates the incident in intense slow-motion so as to eliminate all doubt that his artillery vehicle was the culprit.

"I'm so sorry. Would you like my insurance information?" I frowned furiously. NO. NO, I don't want your insurance information. We all know I'm never going to be arsed to fix this. Nor can I be arsed to be one of those arses that makes people pay for door dings. "NO," I shouted at him in the most bitchiest way anyone has ever shouted something bitchily, possibly because he was being so nice about it, thus making it even harder for me.

"Are you sure?" he called after me as I stomped off to Quiznos, which was not at all where I meant to go, "Can I buy your lunch then?"

"NO!" I continued shouting bitchily. I was so flustered I had to go in there and get a stupid gross ass turkey sandwich rather than lose my dignity and change courses for the Taqueria. Tears streamed down my face as I ordered, mostly because of how completely thoroughly disgusting Quiznos is.

I came back to my car with my toasted abomination of a sandwich and he was still standing there pouting. "Here," he handed me a card he'd written on "We will be happy to fix the dent. Please call. Smiley face" (An illustration of a smiley face, of course). I stared at the card. "News 10," it read, "Aerial photographer, Eye in the Sky Traffic." WHAT. He was the helicopter traffic guy? I squinted at him in the sun as I contemplated telling him that maybe we should go back in time so that he could get in his helicopter and take an aerial picture of his jackass kid plowing his door into my car.

But I ended up telling him that it was okay, and that I appreciated the sentiment and blah blah blah. I don't plan on calling him though. I just anticipate dying a little inside each time I catch News 10.
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