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Well, as some of you know, I was involved in a car wreck a few weeks ago on I-35 near San Marcos. For the past two weeks my totaled Integra has sat at an auto-morgue known as the Bluebonnet Collision Repair shop. On Monday, my brother and I made our way to New Braunfels to find my car and get the clothes I left in out and rip out my stereo and speakers, which I spent my graduation money on. That was a fun trip, as we soon found out that every goddamned dealership in New Braunfels is named Bluebonnet, and none of the dealers we pulled into had my car. Why, you ask? Because, despite the fact that we were told it was a Ford dealership, my car was actually lying at the Bluebonnet Collision Center, which the fine folks at Bluebonnet had failed to mention. Also, the Bluebonnet Collision Center, as we soon found out, was not located on Seguin Avenue, as we had been repeatedly told, but on Business I-35. And despite our best efforts, we could not find a single worker at the three Bluebonnet dealerships we mistook for the right one who actually knew where the hell the Collision Center was. Now, for you non-Texan DUers, I'd like to point out that New Braunfels ain't a friggin metroplex. It's pretty much centered around one main road. Shouldn't the employees of these interrelated dealerships know where the fucking dealership is?
Well, we found it, after at least an hour of searching. It took as about an hour and some change to strip the car of any valuables. But that was enough time for the toofsome lady working the front desk at Bluebonnet to make a sarcastic comment about the sorry shape of my car. I remember looking around as this woman told me how bad the car looked and thinking, "Maybe Professor Hawking here doesn't realize she works at an auto body repair shop." I mean there were like 10 or 12 other vehicles in the lot, some of which were in much worse shape than my car. But I forgive her. It's not her fault God made her so fucking stupid. See, I have compassion!
So fast forward to today. My dad drove up to Houston and we went to New Braunfels to get this $15 a day monkey of our backs. I should have known the day was going to be horrible from the beginning. I woke up with a painful migraine and a stomach ache because I ran out of medication and Effexor has some awesome withdrawal effects. Nothing like waking up ready to vomit! And of course, since I live 3 hours from my home in Houston, I can't get my prescription refilled, because my mom wanted to send off for the meds and then ship them to me, but naturally she's a little slow to do anything, so she sent it off last Friday. And despite the fact that I have 2 refills left on the bottle I brought to school, the pharmacy isn't going to fill them because the goddamn insurance company canceled that prescription when I received a second from a different doctor. So I'm screwed. Because, while I could go to Walgreen's and ask them to bypass the insurance restriction and give me a 14 day supply, I don't have a car and the goddamn Walgreen's is several miles away.
Sorry. Tirade. Anyway, dad and I go to the Municipal County Courthouse in New Braunfels and pay off the ticket I received for my wreck (because when God decides it's time for my fucking tire to blow out, I get the bill). Everything was okay. Under $200 fine, for failure to control speed (I know, they really had to search for something to charge me with). Fine. We lunched in Gruene, which is just a few miles outside of New Braunfels, at a restaurant called the Gristmill, which is a beautiful building overlooking the Guadalupe river, which was gorgeous. Of course, as soon as I began to eat my salad, my stomach decided it was time to punish me, and I had to run to the bathroom. Now, I'm not the kind of boy who uses public restrooms for...well you know. So I'm already uncomfortable, and to make matters worse, the damn men's room is outside, and I left my coat in the restaurant, and it's cold. Good times.
After lunch, we went to the Collision Center. After my father recovered from the heart attack he suffered from seeing the condition of the car, we got some GREAT news from the totally trustworthy guy at Bluebonnet. He gave us the salvage value. Are you ready?
$200.
Yes, the entire car was worth $200. Spotless interior. Good engine (albeit with over 100,000 miles). Brand new A/C. Brand new back tires. Two Ben Franklins. The stereo system was worth $500.
I was understandably overjoyed at this. I don't know what happened. All of the sudden I felt like I was being cheated. Then the manager came out. He had gold rimmed glasses, greasy hair, an open shirt, and gold chains. He put his foot on the crushed bumper and stared at the car. My anger increased. The other guy kept on spewing out more bullshit. He sounded like he was lying. I mean, I am pretty good at catching liars. But this guy was just blatant. I mean, he may or may been telling the truth about the salvage value, but the story he told was so full of it. So very angry.
So we went back to dad's truck to get the title so I could drop it and release the car, and I was fighting back tears and my anger. And then my dad asked me if I was surprised (because he was) and I, like an idiot, said I didn't trust them. That really pissed him off, because the next thing I knew, he was yelling at me. I mean, I was only pointing out that I didn't trust them. He yelled until we got back inside the Bluebonnet office, where I tearfully, and angrily, signed the title away. I threw the pen down and walked out. The yelling resumed. It was an uncomfortable ride back to San Marcos.
Dad went with me to get my prescription refilled (which took a while; nothing is without complication). Then we had coffee at a local shop. Then we went to the record store (I picked up Who's Next and Who by Numbers, plus a Bruce Cockburn album I didn't have, on vinyl for the sum total of 9 bucks. The Who vinyl was in pristine condition, but the sleeves were fucked. The Cockburn record had never been opened. Dad bought me a poster for my room. We were okay.
When dad dropped me back off at the dorm later, he told me he was sorry it turned out so bad, but he had hoped for the best. I told him I had gotten so used to disappointment, I rarely expected things to work out. He told me he loved me and I told him I'd email him tomorrow.
My mother I worry about though. Dad said she'd been depressed since I left for school, and it's only gotten worse. Her mother is sick. Gran was talking to my uncle and mentioned my aunt by name, but could not in anyway remember mom's name. Her forgetting has become very apparent. Dad says my aunt, an RN at an ER, thinks she may have had a minor stroke. She's going in for testing this week. I don't my Gran to die. But considering the way her mother died (in a nursing home, her brain so deteriorated from Alzheimer's she could only speak her mother tongue, Cajun French) I don't want her to suffer either. It's times like these I'm glad Pap didn't live to see. Seeing her go downhill would have destroyed him, far worse than his death destroyed Gran.
I'll speak with my mother and tell her she doesn't have to come up for my birthday next week, and that she needs to be with her mother. That's hard for me to do. I'm infinitely lonely here. But there are other people that matter more than I do right now, and they need to be attended to.
It's times like these I wish I could be religious. Skepticism has it's downside.
Neil
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