Sitting in front of a computer right now is actually the LAST thing I should be doing since the past three weeks have been spent in front of a double monitor and television set up in the editing suite. My eyes are probably bleeding right now, but I wouldn't know it since my vision has been getting more and more hazy the past few days anyway.
But I write on, loyal journal readers, never fear. (Pete, you can stop sending harassing IMs now)
I realized that I have had my car for exactly one month today and have still not written about it or posted any pictures (Pete, thanks once again for pointing this out) You know what, you're still not going to have any pictures right now because the only ones I have of it are from the accident.
Yes, that's right, you read it correctly. ACCIDENT.
Not a big one, but enough to bring Meg to an all out rage and to put a scratch on my front bumper.
It was Thursday, April 3rd and Steph, my awesome awesomce videotaping partner and I were heading over to Charlestown to meet Irish Girl Erin and we stopped for gas. I'm merrily filling my tank, the only car at the pumps, when a minivan (the ONLY other car at the gas station) parked near the convience store starts backing up. No worries, right.
WRONG
I watch as Steph attempts to lean over and hit my horn, but alas, there was the stomach churning sound of van hitting car before there was a honk. I flipped. The work "fuck" was probably the only discernable thing I was saying.
The driver, who happens to be a 16 year old hoochie, asks "Is it okay?"
"Not it's not fucking okay! You hit my fucking car!"
"Are you sure?"
"You hit my fucking car, I'm fucking positive"
Steph got out and the two of us started checking out the bumper and yes, there was a scratch. I whipped out my camera and started talking pictures of the entire scene (well you work for detectives for 5 years, you learn a few things) while I asked the girl for her insurance information and her license. She kept telling me it was no big deal and giving me a lot of attitude, which anyone who knows me understands that that is the WORST thing to do, especially when I know that I'm right.
Add on to the fact that I had Steph with me, who is the multicultural version of Meg, and she definitely whipped out some of her black half and started giving the girl shit too. Had she just given us the info we wanted, it would have been over so soon, but the two of us just bitched her our and wrote down every single piece of information we could fish out of her car. Steph made up some lie about insurance companies that scared her and I quickly pointed out that the local police know me (the gas station was spitting distance from Parkside) and wouldn't hesitate to help me out if she gave me any trouble.
About a half hour later all of the commotion ended and I appogized (sort of) and said that yes, I probably overreacted, but I had only had the car two weeks and I said that when she buys her first car after years and years of saving up for it, she'd know how I felt. Then she gave us some bullshit about how she is having her brand new car delivered to her house the following week. I prompted responded "Fuck you, I hope someone backs into your new car and treats you the way you treated us. I'll call you when I get my estimate and tell you how much you owe me,"
I haven't gotten my estimate yet, so that bitch probably thinks I gave up on it.
Not a fat fucking chance in the world.
And you know what, the scratch really isn't that visible, but she will pay because nobody fucks with me.
Other than that, the car is super, I love it and I will put up pictures soon.