So when I was driving down a major street yesterday and that big van pulled up close alongside me, I didn't like it very much. I liked it even less when some guy stuck his head and half his body out of the window of the front passenger seat and started frantically gesturing to me, then to the back of my car, and then back to me again.
At this point, I figured one of several things.
1.) My brakelight was out.
2.) The back of my car was on fire.
3.) I had just run over something (or, god forbid, someone).
4.) I had a flat tire.
5.) I was going to get carjacked.
6.) There was a killer in the backseat with a hook for a hand, and the call is coming FROM INSIDE THE HOUSE! (Also, my trunk was filled with Pop Rocks and Coke.)
I looked over at the guy and gestured quickly (again, difficult to do, I have this thing about keeping both hands on the wheel--and by "thing," I mean that I am a constitutionally nervous driver) "What?" He didn't say anything, just make this desperate, panicked face, again gesturing to me, then to the back of my car, then to me again. Well, shit.
Cautiously (again, remember, we're still driving high speed down a road at this point, a big, busy road, with no place to pull off), I rolled down my window and tentatively shouted out my window, "Is something wrong?"
The guy in the van, not missing a beat, shouted back, "I can't help but notice that you have a big dent in the back of your car, ma'am. Would you like me to help you fix it?" He was looking for freelance auto body work. What did he I think I was going to do? Say yes so he could throw a handful of business cards into my window? I very politely said no thank you (trying all the while to keep my hands on the wheel and my eyes on the road), and rolled up my window again.
What I didn't tell him is that I had made that big dent in the car myself, while backing up our other car into it in our driveway last year. Because I'm a terrible driver. And he's lucky I didn't put a dent in his van while he was trying to arrange some sort of high speed interaction with me as we were both barreling down a major street during rush hour.
In sum: I hate driving. The end.