And yes, I admit that I don't always come to a "complete stop" at stop-signs (does it really matter as long as I'm not killing anyone??). And yes, I tend to consider "speed limits" as just mild suggestions. And yes, I have a teensy-weensy-miniscule tendency to get a tiny-bit upset at idiotic drivers, particularly chongas driving twenty under the speed limit/suggestion on the Turnpike because they're applying their fucking eyebrows and talking on their cellphones.
Now see what had happened was, I was coming home from work. For some idiotic reason, I decided to take the long way through my gated neighborhood, which makes us drive under 20mph, which I was totally going!!So, I'm driving home, at 20mph, on what I now realize was April Fools' Day (thanks, Universe) and I make a VERY slow turn... and promptly hit the brakes when I see an adorable puppy running across the street. I'm a little taken back, because puppies that size are usually insanely expensive and kept in unnecessarily-pretentious bags the size of bowling balls. So, as I drive away (still at 20mph), I look at my rear-view mirror in an attempt to make sure the damn thing doesn't try to chase after me and get run over by my pretty tires.
...aaand immediately smack into a garbage can. Did I mention it was Trash Day in my neighborhood? Yeah, it was frickin' Trash Day and someone clearly decided to leave the damn thing out, IN THE ROAD, may I point out, where I was driving 20mph on. And this impact (love-tap, really) was apparently enough to knock my passenger-side mirror off into a hinge. In retrospect, the fact that all it took was a plastic trashcan to break off a piece of my car does not bode well to that one, faraway day where my car will have to meet something likely larger and stronger than industrial-plastic.
I promptly have a massive titty-attack, come home two blocks away and call about five different repair shops and begin my conversations with the men on the other lines with, "Please fix my baby!" Gemma looks at me like I'm an idiot because businesses will likely charge me more if they realize that 1) I'm retarded when it comes to repair charges and 2) am so obviously-desperately invested in repairing my car for whatever they charge me.
All the likely-big-and-burly men on the other lines ask me for the make and model (Ford Mustang 2011) and I can actually hear all of them wince as they go, "Ouch! Already??"
Eventually, I find a business with a reasonable price (or at least I think it's reasonable)... only to drive out and find a seedy garage that looks like a body might've been chopped in there once upon a time. But the big and burly tattooed men are courteous and non-offensive in their affect or smell so I don't burn rubber the moment I approach the shop. The mirror won't come in for a few days so big-and-burly-man #1 drills a few screws to hold my damaged one in place. I thank them profusely and drive back home.
This time, I take the short route, hoping to God that I don't run into that stupid puppy again.
