The Ambiguously Gay Auto Body Repairers

So Friday night the girls and I had what we like to now refer to as The Rager: Shruti and my "un"birthday party (I guess we might as well call it Sophia's unbirthday as well...) complete with many, many Jell-O shots, butt loads of friends, and one too many keg stands. Good time had by all. Except that guy who passed out in the lawn chair and I pushed him out of at four in the morning. Dude, don't pass out at a stranger's house where you are susceptible to trickery.

So needless to say, even though I went into work Satuday at five, I was still hurting pretty good. I don't know if it was from moving a full keg from the front yard to the back or hanging over it during the party.

Sunday, even worse. Straight up hours late to work, dragging ass all day, still unshowered since Friday (what with waking up and realizing I was supposed to be at work and I wasn't...) the list goes on. And Sunday evening I could not wait to go home, shower, rest for a bit, and spend some much needed quality time with my best guy, Bo.

On the drive home, this guy in the passenger side of a big white truck with writing all over it waves at me to roll down the window and I think I have a flat or something. But no. It's those auto body repair guys who drive around all day, searching for hunks of metal like yours truly and making estimates and repairs for what seems like reasonable prices at the time. It's like impulse shopping. Old Blue is a magnet for these dudes.

So while we're weaving down Lamar, this Mexican Guy and I are having a pretty detailed conversation for the speed at which I head down a curvy road.

MG (yelling): Let me fix those dents and messed up bumper you got! It won't take me long.

...road curving...

Me: Dude! Some guy already "fixed" it! (Rest assured, I animated the " ".) And look at the shotty job he did. No thanks, man.

MG: I can do it better than that. Thirty minutes.

...road curving drastically...

Me: How much are you going to rob me for it?

MG: PULL OVER! We'll talk about it.

Me: Ugggghhhh.

And so I proceed to a well lit, well populated area (in case mother reads this) right off the road, haggle with these two guys who seem honest enough, and end up coming to terms with a price that I am pleased with. And then things start to get kind of weird. These two were literally the most in your face people I have ever faced in real life. While the driver of the truck (who was wearing a Coach belt and matching flip flops) went to working on my car immediately, the portly passenger guy, or the apparent voice of the operation, asked me the most intense and personal questions I have ever felt inclined to answer besides when at the doctor's office, most of which I can't repeat online.

-Where do you work?

-How many people are you dating?

-Guy or girl?

-How much do you make?

-How much does he make?

-How old are you?

-Do you have any children?

-When was your first kiss?

Etc, etc, but much more personal. Then during the inquisition, the well dressed and becoming more increasingly gay sounding one would stick his two cents in: He only asked you that because he pretends like he likes girls. Or: Don't listen to him, he wanted to be a cheerleader. Hanz would heckle Franz about being gay, and then Franz would tell me about his three kids and wife and their ultimate sexual fantasies together. And then the ambiguously gay duo guessed my bra, shoe, and waist size accurately because they "love women's bodies so much."

Needless to say, Brynnan was confused. And when the light began to fall, frightened.

"Good Lord," I began thinking to myself. "This is all an elaborate ploy to get me off the road and close to their truck so they can stuff me in it and rape me. This guy doesn't really like Coach, his girlfriend bought him this belt and he's just wearing it as part of the scheme! They're probably going to take me home to her so I can fulfill HER fantasies."

But Ace and Gary turned out okay, two pretty stand up guys who did a good job doing what they do and having fun along the way. Even so, hide yo kids, hide yo wife, and for goodness sake, don't let your husband go to the auto body repair shop alone.