A Knock at the Door

Doug and I were sitting in the living room the other evening, just starting to tuck into our yummy chicken dinner with our trays on our laps. We were ready to finish a movie we had started, called "Finding a Friend at the End of the World". For some reason, we've been attracted to disaster films lately.

I saw out of the corner of my eye some movement outside the window of the little cottage we're staying in this summer in Capitola. A youngish woman was striding toward us through our yard past the citrus trees and flowers.

I tried to remember what Amazon order might be being delivered. I wouldn't have to get up if that was the case, so I took another bite. She would just leave it on the porch. But then someone knocked. And then the doorbell rang.

I put down my plate and finished chewing my bite of chicken as I took the few steps to the door. "Maybe you should look through the little lens in the door", Doug cautioned. "I don't think so. It's a woman", I said, even as I had second thoughts as I opened the door.

She looked harmless enough, about 30, with brunette hair and glasses. "Hi", she said, " I'm so sorry to bother you, but is that your red Prius out front?"

Uh-oh, I thought. "Yes, it is."

"Oh. Well, I'm sorry to tell you this, but I backed into it just now", she said apologetically.

I looked over at Doug, knowing his special love for our recently repainted 2014 Prius. But we both instantly appreciated her honesty and that she hadn't just done one of those "hit and runs" that you hear about so often. He nodded at me, and called over to her through the screen door, "Thank you for coming to tell us about it. Do you want to come in?"

"Oh no! I'd better go out and take pictures of it. I don't think it's too bad. I'll send the information to my insurance company tomorrow."

I waited a couple of minutes, and then I grabbed my own iPhone, thinking that I'd better go out and take my own photos. She was out there by the car, studiously taking photos of our little wounded baby, "Vino", the name we had bestowed upon it, since it wasn't actually red, but a sparkling burgundy color.

I saw her look at the license plate and she said, "Oh no!". It's a disabled persons plate, starting with DP. She looked at me with a sorrowful gaze. "Oh, I know. It's for my husband, not me, but I do the driving." She looked down. "I'll contact my insurance company tomorrow. Here's my driver's license and insurance information. Would you like to have my number?" I added her to my contacts so I would make sure to pick up if she called.

She was so sweet, it was difficult to be angry with her. Our car wasn't that bad off, really. I mean the fender wasn't hanging down on the tire, but it was ugly. The next day Doug couldn't bring himself to look at her punched-in nose. If the insurance would pay, they would have to replace the entire front fender, but we knew right where to take Vino as soon as we got back to Palm Springs. We'd go right to the autobody shop that painted her. Maybe Ramona, the owner, will have some leftover paint.

We've been getting updates from her that the insurance adjuster would be calling us in a couple of days. I made a note of that number too.

Just the next day, it was arranged that I would go to a body shop for photos and an estimate of what the damage would cost. The man printed up all the details and gave me a copy. When I told him that I'd been waiting to get the car washed, he looked at me and said, "Oh no, I wouldn't take it to a place to be washed. The power of those jets might knock the fender right off!"

Oh dear, I hadn't thought of that. "I could take it to one of those places where I wash it myself then?" He agreed that would be best. On the way back home I pulled into the DIY carwash in Capitola, but there were no stalls available and there was a line. I hadn't done that for years, not since I was a teenager washing my little Austin America. There wasn't a clear sign stating the price, only a bill changer, with pictures of a dollar bill, a five, a ten and a twenty. I only had a credit card, no cash, so I went home.

Doug and I went out later to go grocery shopping, and he wanted me to check it out again. He didn't have cash either and there wasn't a way to use a credit card. We decided to buy a couple of things at CVS on our debit card and get some cash back.

All set with 5 dollar bills, we came back to be second in line. A man in the car next to us got our attention, pointing to the stall ahead of him and then at himself to show that he was claiming that one. Finally another car moved out and we moved forward into the sudsy area to take our place. The man from the other car met me at the bill changer. I asked how many coins I should buy (this seemed so old-fashioned!), and he said "It usually takes about eight. But examine each of them closely. Sometimes you'll get a Susan B Anthony. It'll be worth a Lot more!" I wondered if he made it a habit to come here , especially to that one stall just on the off chance that he might score one.

There were two slots on the machine to insert your bills. One of them was obviously damaged, so I tried the other one.

Even so, my five dollar bill was spit back out at me. I fed it back in again and five brassy looking coins fell into the silver bowl at the bottom. I studied each of them for Ms Anthony, but no luck. The next bill performed nicely, but now what? The man was still watching me, so I asked, "So where do I put them in?" He pointed over to the wall by my car. "Right there", he said.

"Oh, of course!", I said kind of embarrassed, "I guess I haven't done this since I was 18!" He smiled. I think he knew that I was 76.

I reported in to Doug, and he was busy dusting off the dashboard with the yellow cloth he uses for his glasses. We made sure all of the windows were rolled up, and I busily inserted the coins needed to get it started up. You have to choose a cycle, so I put the knob on rinse, just to get the dust off, and lifted the hose wand high and pressed the lever. A powerful jet came out and the time was ticking away on the coin machine. I switched over to suds, and lifted instead the very foamy soft brush and scrubbed as quickly as I could from top to bottom, carefully around the front fender and then to the other side, seeing Doug trying to catch my attention smiling and waving through the soapy window. The hose got caught on the antenna, which has seen better days, and I saw that I had to hurry to put in more coins to rinse. I inserted the rest of the coins in my pocket, and did my best to get rid of the abundant suds. Finally, I had enough water to spare to rinse the whole shiny car! This really wasn't bad at all. Much easier, I thought, than trying to wash it in front of the house with a bucket and a hose, which I had been considering.

When we got back to our cottage, I called Ramona in Palm Springs, and told her our news and that we would be bringing our poor injured car back to her. She was happy to oblige and knew the insurance company. We'd see her in November.

Yesterday, I received a message from the insurance woman saying that our check was "in the mail" to cover the damages. American Family Insurance sounded almost too good to be true! Sounds like it is though.

Now, if I can just learn to avoid pulling into parking places too closely and hitting the berms, or coming out of steep driveways and hitting the bumper on the ground, we should be good. Just say prayers. We are. I'll try to get back to you.