Do you ever have those times when you feel like the universe is playing some mean trick on you? Come on Universe, don’t you have anything better to do than fool with me? Obviously not, which, lesbehonest is kind of embarrassing.
It started last Thursday driving home from happy hour with some work friends, when a semi-truck decided to play a nice game of stoning (the biblical kind, not the Colorado kind) and threw a rock at my windshield. It cracked in two places, my instinctive inner drama queen kicked in and I complained about it obnoxiously to Andy for infinity hours.
He’s so lucky to have me.
Fast forward to Monday morning, when I felt that enough time had passed and I should probably get around to making some calls to see about getting it fixed. After some heavy Googling and light Yelping, I decided on a repair company and dialed the number.
Repair Company: Hello, thank you for calling Allegedly Trustworthy According to Yelp Repair Company, how can I help you?
Me: Hello, yes, um, I had an unfortunate incident last week with a semi on the freeway. He kicked up a rock and cracked my windshield in two places. I wasn’t driving behind him, even, I was to the side. He was driving about 10 miles under the speed limit so I went around to pass him, if that’s important for you to know. I don’t think it was entirely malicious, but you can never be too sure with semis, you know? I don’t trust them; I’ve seen them drive way too aggressively and dangerously and I’ve almost been driven off the road by them before, actually. As a matter of fa–
Repair Company: Ma’am, please stop talking slow down. You said you have windshield damage? What kind of damage are we talking about?
Me: One kind of starburst-shaped crack on the far passenger side, it’s about four inches in diameter. The second is about a centimeter-wide crack in the very middle.
Repair Company: Four inches? Yeah, we’re going to need to replace the whole windshield. Any company who tells you they can patch that is just going to be taking your money. That’s probably going to come in around $3,000.
Holy s-h-you-know-what three thousand is like, a whole lot of dollars. I gave this man, Jason, my phone number, vehicle description and began to panic. I texted Andy bad words about the stupid semi truck company and how they should pay for it, I panicked over not being able to afford the still-yet-to-be-determined international trip we’ve been saving for and I had visions of us sitting in our blazing hot un-air-conditioned, powerless house eating Ramen noodles for months. $3,000. Three. Thousand. Dollars. Awesome.
About twenty minutes later, Jason called again with an official estimate.
Jason: Well ma’am, it all depends on whether you have Name of Fancy Windshield Condensation Sensor or not, but either way it’s gonna run you less than $300.”
Me: Oh, sure, yes, ummmm…I’m not sure if I have Name of Fan— I’m sorry, did you say less than $300?
Jason: Yes ma’am.
Me: As in, less than $300…which is less than $3,000?
By this point Jason no doubt thought me the world’s most spectacular idiot for seemingly lacking a functioning knowledge of how numbers work. “…Yes ma’am, $300 is less than $3,000.”
Me: Jason I must’ve misheard you on the phone, I could have sworn you said less than $3,000 and I mean, $300 is still a lot of dollars but it’s sooooooo much less than $3,000. Jason thank you so much, you have completely made my day. Yes, please sign me up for the $300 not $3,000. I love you. You are wonderful.
Jason: Well, I ain’t seen you yet, but there’s a chance I could love you too.
Jason’s coming today to fix my windshield for less than $300 and I’m just going to be honest, we’re probably going to fall in love and run away together. Forward my mail.
—The Wife in Training