Take the money and run
“Those bastards!” he exclaimed cheerfully, putting the paper down and looking at me from across a desk cluttered with loose-leaf pages and pushed up against the far wall of the mobile home.
“Right,” I agreed.
It felt like something to which you should agree.
He leaned back (eliciting a sharp squeak from his swivel chair), and put his hands behind his head with a smile. Forgetting that I was in a straight-backed folding chair, I tried to recline, too, and came dangerously close to falling over.
I settled with a crash and returned his smile. He nodded. A comfortable camaraderie rose between us.
I didn’t want to ruin the moment, but I felt that to confirm his strict judgment without fully understanding his rationale would be a small betrayal of our new friendship. So, after a moment’s hesitation, I ventured the question:
“But really, what’s wrong with USAA?” I said. “I thought their insurance was pretty good.”
“Oh, everything,” he replied, waving his hand to signify that he used the word in its literal sense. “They’re cheapskates, for one. They don’t stand for any supplemental stuff. Or if they do, you have to go through hell to get it approved. And they’re slower than tar.”
“That does sound rough,” I said. “I see what you mean.”
“This estimate they gave you,” he continued, “is probably $1,000 short of what it’ll take to get the work done. At least! See, they have one hour for blending the paint, and I know for a fact it’ll take at least two hours. And that’s just the beginning.” He gazed into the middle distance and shook his head, clearly envisioning disaster.
My heart sank. Despite the now-proven bastardy of USAA, I’d been hoping that this man would be up for repairing the deep scratch on the driver’s side of my 2004 Corolla.
He glanced back at me and registered my concern, and his face softened with compassion. “But let’s go take a look at it, huh?” he said, slamming his hands on the desk to flutter the top layer of papers to the floor. Then he breezed past me through the screen door and bounded down the uneven wooden steps.
I followed.
Outside the office, it was getting colder, and a flat gray sky promised snow. He bobbed forward energetically in an oil-stained t-shirt, arms bare, navigating the row of junkyard cars until he came to mine. I followed, huddled into my huge green military jacket, wondering how much I looked like a retracting turtle.
“Hm,” he said, putting his hand to his chin and peering at the door. I came to stand beside him and followed his gaze.
It wasn’t a pretty sight. Somebody had sliced through the side of the car while I was parked at Chuze Fitness. They’d left a deep dent, bare metal that jutted through flaking paint to shine like bone, and (regrettably) no note.
“That would happen at Chuze Fitness,” said Alli when I told her.
“What do you mean?” I asked. But it wasn’t a fair question, because I did know what she meant.
Snow began to fall. Standing in front of the car, the repairman pursed his lips and clicked his tongue, thinking. He came to a conclusion. “Let me ask you something,” he said.
I let him.
“How much do you care about the way your car looks?” he inquired, placing a clear, profound emphasis on the last word so I’d be sure to take his meaning.
“What do you think?” I replied. “I’m driving a 2004 Corolla.”
“That’s what I thought you’d say,” he said, patting my shoulder. “I like the way you think.”
Internally, I glowed.
“Now, I’ll tell you what I’d do,” he said conspiratorially, looking around and lowering his voice. “You already filed the claim, right? So they’re going to send you a check for $1,500. Thing is, though, they don’t care how it happens from here.”
He paused and spoke in a whisper I had to lean forward to hear. “I’d take the money and run.”
I blinked.
“That’s right,” he said, immediately back to normal volume and a contagious level of cheer. “That’s right! Take the money and run!” He chuckled.
“But will it be okay to drive around with it like that?” I managed in confusion, gesturing toward the gash and wondering whether, if I did take the money, I’d really have to run.
“Oh, you’re worried about the car?” he asked. “Well, let’s see. Does the door open okay?”
Abruptly he opened the car door and slammed it shut.
“That’s fine, then. Now look. You go to Lowe’s, get a bottle of primer, and spray it over the metal.” He motioned toward the heart of the hole. “Duct tape around the edges to keep the water out, and that’ll last three years, at least. After that you could always find a door at a junkyard and slap it on.”
Unfamiliar with slapping doors onto cars, I considered the idea.
“Primer and duct tape will last three years?” I asked.
“Three years,” he confirmed. “At least. Although you might need to replace the duct tape.”
“Huh,” I said.
And that’s how, without doing an iota of repair work, Highlands Auto Body earned its 87th five-star review.
Update on Music Stuff
Here’s the situation: Last year, I worked on music once per week. But it turns out recording music once every week is tougher than I’d expected.
It’s hard to get in a groove; you set things up, start recording, and then come to the end of the day with a bit of a song done. Then, the next week, you get back into things and find you want to clear out whole sections and start again. It’s exhausting.
So, after reflection over the holidays, I’ve decided that I’ll be changing things up. My plan for this year is to take a week off at a time and record music every few months. I think this will let me make more music more efficiently – but it’ll also mean more time between recording sessions, and more time until I put out more music.
I have a week cleared out in early February. I should have new music ready shortly after.
That’s the situation. Thanks for tracking with me in the meantime. I appreciate you.