I bought my car, brand spanking new, in 2005. It looks like this.
With a few more dings.
Ok, fine, a lot more dings. What? I've had it for five years and three months. That's a long time to not run into ANYTHING. Right?
I bought a new car, way back then, because I can't really be trusted to take good care of things without a lot of reminders. When you get a new one, I figured, the dealership helps you remember to do things like change your oil, and if they were helping, I'd totally get it done.
In retrospect, that's not true. I mean, the reminders are sort of true, but the me actually taking care of my car just because of the occasional email?
I think the only way I will ever have a vehicle that gets all of its maintenance in a timely manner is if someone drives to my house and forcibly takes it from me to perform said maintenance. Is there a service that does that?
Anyway, today I went to Jiffy Lube. My 'maintenance needed' light came on some time in July, so I figured it was about time. I only have 35,000 miles on the car, so don't get all huffy - it's not like I'm putting on a thousand miles a week here, y'all. 35k in five years. (Dear everyone who isn't my father: the huffy comment was not directed at you - I know you won't get huffy!)
I drove in, made my selections, turned down a new air filter for the cabin (it's THE OUTSIDE - why am I filtering outdoor air out of my car? This makes no sense to me. Outdoor air is awesome.), and sat down to wait.
Ten minutes later, a tech came in laughing and asked me how I got the huge yellow streak and dent on the top edge of the roof. Apparently they each tried to come up with a way it could have happened, and I was to settle it for them.
I explained. He chortled and returned to work.
I think that before I told him that it was a parking garage incident, they thought I was some sort of rule breaking badass - that perhaps I'd driven through a pedestrian underpass in pursuit of a shoplifter, or gone off a jump in a skate park in my car and hit a lightpost.
I wish I'd told one of those stories instead. For 10 minutes there, I WAS a badass.
Not a girl who misjudges her turn radius in parking garages.