The Wily Filipino

What A Day.

No, not the Throbbing Gristle song (a great song, but not as good as "Hamburger Lady.")

As icing on my cake of penury, my car got reversed on this afternoon as I was driving out of the school parking lot; the driver of the errant truck was so eager to give his parking stub to another driver that he reversed without looking. Cue the sound of breaking glass and the oddly soft crunch of metal bending: one headlight was out of commission, with the hood poking up about half a foot to expose the wirings and stuff underneath.

The driver was extremely apologetic, and offered to pay me even in cash, pay for a rental car while the car was in the garage, even accompany me to the garage for estimates. None of this was in writing, of course, so I take down his name and address and phone numbers and e-mail address.

As I get on the freeway, however, I realize -- in a sudden panic -- that I had not even taken down his license plate number. Great, I say to myself. I give the number he gave me a call, hoping he'd pick up. He does, but tells me he'll call me up in a few minutes because he's driving. I'm thinking to myself, great, he's not going to return the call, when the phone rings. He had pulled over, it seems, to read his license plate to me. He promises to call tomorrow after I go to the garage for an estimate. My fingers are still crossed.

I am, in any case, feeling rather bad for my poor Honda Civic. (D-Dog and I went on a Road Trip O' Death from Los Angeles to San Francisco earlier this year, but we survived.) About three weeks ago the third of my four speakers gave way to an annoying tinny buzzing rattle, much like an old Ulver record, everytime the bass would thump. (The little tin cone inside the speaker had come off and was bouncing around inside.) Now I listen to either one speaker (the one farthest from the driver's seat, alas) or have the bass lowered so far down; since I don't own a stereo, it's one of the few places I can listen to music that isn't on headphones. (This car, by the way, was once dubbed by J-Lu as "the rustiest car I've ever seen;" a couple months ago the metal "HONDA" letters fell off into the trunk as I opened the door.)

So anyhow. I finally get back home. It's dark as I pull into the driveway. As I come out of the car and pick up my stuff, my shoe hits something as I close the door; it rolls a few inches away from my feet. I figure I had dropped it, so I pick up the hard cylindrical object and turn it toward the light to see what it is. It's a dried-up dog turd.

Posted by the wily filipino at November 22, 2005 10:00 PM