reunited

A few weeks ago, my poor car was hit.

It just so happened that I was sitting in my car at the time of its injury, and, if I do say so myself, I think I handled the situation quite well.

On the inside, I wanted to yell words like "CUSS" at the lady who hit me, but I pulled myself together, got her information, and went on my marry (and injured) car way.

It's hard to be mad at a lady who hits your car when she really seems like she didn't meant to do it. Also, it's hard to be mad at the lady when the back of her car is plastered in the local private girl's high school stickers so you know she's good for the money to fix it.

This was my first time dealing with insurance stuff and other grown-uppy things. At first, Rich Lady didn't want to go through insurance. She said if she could afford the repairs on her own, she'd rather do that. (Now, I don't know much about insurance, but isn't this whole scenario the reason why one buys insurance?).

Since my Jetta is so sleek and sexy and sits close to the ground, and her Goliath Grand Caravan is so far off of the ground, there was a pretty nasty bump on my car. I'm no car expert, but it seemed to me that once the Car Hospital popped out the dent, they would need to repaint the rear quarter panel (listen to me!). When I called Rich Lady to tell her I would get an estimate and would probably need a rental car, she huffed and puffed and agreed to my terms. [She later decided to actually go through insurance, and I had nothing but success and pleasant experiences with her insurance company. Way-to-go State Farm! You really are like a good neighbor]

Now, the college educated part of me thought, it would be best to get the car fixed while you're still working, so the miles can be put on a rental car, and not your own. So I made the appointment and dropped my car off.

I actually placed bets on what kind of rental car I would get, and knowing it was Enterprise, I was not surprised when a not-so-sleek and rather clunky Chevy Cobalt pulled up to pick me up.

This was my first experience with renting a car. It made me feel quite grown up. The idea of renting a car always seemed so sophisticated to me. You know, like flying somewhere and being so important as to need a rent a car to get you from place-to-place. So I was rather giddy to have this rental car.

At first, I was told that the repair would take 2-3 days. On day 3 I called to check the status of my beloved car. I was informed that the paint was still at little too tacky to let me take home, and it would need another day. But here we were, on the precipice of a 3-day weekend, and the repair shop keeps bankers hours, it was inevitable that I was going to have to drive around in this rental car (that proved to be less than sexy, as I had initially thought) through the long weekend.

In addition to having no get-up-and-go, the car smelled. Like really bad cologne or something. And I hoped that I would go away, but it never did. The only saving grace to this situation was the Slowbalt's mp3 jack (and the fact that I had the foresight to bring my cord with me).

As I made my final drive to the shop to drop off the rental car and pick up my own car, I was exited to be reunited with my car.

Not only did they do a superb job on my car, but when I slid into the familiar comfort of my Jetta's driver seat, I realized how much my car still smells like New Car. And not just New Car, New Volkswagen (VW owners, you know what I'm talking about). It felt like home.

But the real kicker (and what made the extra three-and-a-half-days with the miserable rental car all worth it): They detailed the inside of my car! Because nobody hates vacuuming out their car more than this girl.

And that, my friends, makes getting your car hit all worth it.