LETTING MY CAT OUT OF ITS BAG

There is a dent on the passenger side of my car and I’m not sure exactly when or how it happened.  Once I noticed it though, I felt obliged to do something about it. I don’t make decisions without researching and weighing the decision consequences. So I decided to let the cat out of the bag and do my research.

When my friend Wendy called me the following day, I told her about the dent. “Fix it and don’t tell your children about it,” she advised. “They will think you’re too old to drive. I’ll come with you to my repair shop if you want me to. David there has a magic touch!”

Hiking with my walking group on Lady Bird’s Lake Sunday morning, I sought Herb’s advice. “Whatever you do, Mahassen,” he said, “don’t submit an insurance claim. When I did after my latest car accident, they refused to renew my insurance.”

 But since Paula and her husband were taking me to lunch on Wednesday to celebrate my birthday, I waited for their take on the matter.”I didn’t tell you this,” Paula said, “but a few months ago, as I was backing out of the garage, my right rear-view mirror banged against the garage door and we had to replace it. Let’s look at the dent.”

So after lunch, I took Paula and her husband to my car for dent-assessment.  “Not noticeable! Right honey?” Paula asked her husband. He looked at the dent, then looked at his wife and didn’t say a word. I read “Are you crazy!” on his face. So I waited for further evaluation.

In December, my car was due for service. As my service manager was handing me the car key I asked him if I should fix the dent. “These small scratches?” he said. “Don’t worry about them.” I was not sure what scratches he meant since we were standing on the driver’s side of the car. But I decided not to worry about a dent that is unnoticeable to a car service manager.

That’s until a trucker waited for me in the parking lot of Bed, Bath & Beyond.

“I can fix this dent on the side of your car,” he said.

“No, thanks,” I said and continued to place my purchases into the car trunk.

He handed me his business card. “I’m heading now to my body shop. I have in my truck the tools to fix the dent and to paint it the exact same silver color of your car. It’ll be as good as new.”

I sighed. “It is old.” Then I tried to subtract 2006 from 2019.

The trucker didn’t budge. “I’ll charge you five hundred dollars, that’s less than half the price of fixing this dent, and I will do it right here in this parking lot,” he said.

“No, three hundred,” I said, to politely get rid of him.

“Okay. Move your car under the tree and I’ll bring my truck next to it.”

He seemed desperate for money and I didn’t have cash on me. I moved the car but stood far away from him, holding the car key and cell phone tightly inside my right pocket, and my left arm pressing on my handbag--hanging on my left shoulder.

Forty-five minutes later, the dent was still detectable and the silver paint on the dent was far from the heavenly color of the car. Near tears, I opened my handbag and started to write a check for the three hundred dollars. But the trucker jumped inside his truck and drove away.

A factual cat release story!