Thursday, August 18, 2005
Liquid Glass and Hermosa Beach Cam
This morning I dropped my husband off at the airport so he could travel back to L.A. to take care of a traffic ticket. He worked out the cost of the plane ticket plus traffic school vs. the cost of insurance going up and decided it was better to try to fly back. The only thing I worried about after dropping him off was making it back home. Even with Mapquest, I'm absolutely terrible at directions. No internal compass whatsoever. On the way to the airport, I said to my husband "how am I gonna find my way back here to pick you up?" He knows me, and said "yeah, you'll probably call from Flagstaff and tell me you got lost." Har-de-har-har. Totally true.
So I did pretty good with the directions and was on my last freeway when "POP." DAMN! The truck in front of me kicked up some gravel and it made a dime-size divit in my windshield. This isn't uncommon in Arizona because the freeways and roads are flanked by banks of rocks. So I chant the license plate over and over in my head. Determined to remember it as if the truck company would do anything about it. Of course this boy-handling thing happens the second the boy leaves town. This coming on the heels of my husband running over blown steel-belted semi tire tread last week did not amuse me. Why do these things always happen when cash is tight? So I'm already doing the calculations in my head...here's 200 bucks for a new f-ing windshield! I call my husband, who hasn't even made it through security at the airport and he advises me to try the New Yorker at the gas station before I call to have the whole thing replaced. He tells me about something called liquid glass that I've never heard of. That's how clueless about cars I am. You see, there's this guy at the gas station near our apartment with this really thick NY accent...the Brooklyn one, I'm pretty sure. He always comes up to your car to check for dirt and cracks in your windshield, and he's always trying to sell you something...car wash, window wash...something! And it's a hard sell. Those kind of people really piss me off, but facing him was better than getting a whole new windshield, so I pull into the station.
The second I pull in he looks at me, stalking the windshield. Usually I'm pretty rude to him...I can't stand pushy sales people. I gave him the "come hither" look and curly finger. He looked around like you would at a party if you didn't know the person was waving to you. Then he pointed to himself and mouthed "ME?" I nodded and he came trotting over. "What can I do fo ya, mam?" he asked. "Do you have any means of fixing this?" I asked, doubting it. "Oh yeah, no problem" he said. "Just pull ya ca ova hea."
Five minutes and thirty bucks later the divit was gone. Good as new! Wow! I told him I couldn't believe my eyes and tried to give him a tip, but he refused. He asked my name, and I asked his. Al. Nice guy. Well, he's nice now that he fixed my windshield. I should be nicer to people. I just always feel like crawling into a shell when those sales people come up to me. And the Brooklyn accent didn't help. Maybe that's the L.A. still in me. No tolerance and no socialization with strangers. Something to work on.
Later in the afternoon I was sitting at the computer and I pulled up the dashboard on my Mac. One of the widgets is a Hermosa Beach Cam...the beach right near my hometown. I put it on there so we could check things out now and again. So I get this crazy idea and call my husband. "Hey, honey! You don't happen to be in Hermosa Beach, do you?" "Well, yeah!" he said. I'm having a drink with my buddy at Patrick Molloy's "Why?" "Ooo. Ooo!" I said. "Right now, please go
run over to that orange consruction sign at the end of the promenade. I wanna see if I can see you!." So he did. And I saw him. It was so cool! The picture doesn't really do it justice. I was so excited I forgot to use my brain and just do a screen shot, so in true Kristen fashion I whip out the camera and take a picture of the screen. Duh. Anyway, he's the guy in the white shirt standing next to orange sign. See him? Cute, huh?
So I did pretty good with the directions and was on my last freeway when "POP." DAMN! The truck in front of me kicked up some gravel and it made a dime-size divit in my windshield. This isn't uncommon in Arizona because the freeways and roads are flanked by banks of rocks. So I chant the license plate over and over in my head. Determined to remember it as if the truck company would do anything about it. Of course this boy-handling thing happens the second the boy leaves town. This coming on the heels of my husband running over blown steel-belted semi tire tread last week did not amuse me. Why do these things always happen when cash is tight? So I'm already doing the calculations in my head...here's 200 bucks for a new f-ing windshield! I call my husband, who hasn't even made it through security at the airport and he advises me to try the New Yorker at the gas station before I call to have the whole thing replaced. He tells me about something called liquid glass that I've never heard of. That's how clueless about cars I am. You see, there's this guy at the gas station near our apartment with this really thick NY accent...the Brooklyn one, I'm pretty sure. He always comes up to your car to check for dirt and cracks in your windshield, and he's always trying to sell you something...car wash, window wash...something! And it's a hard sell. Those kind of people really piss me off, but facing him was better than getting a whole new windshield, so I pull into the station.
The second I pull in he looks at me, stalking the windshield. Usually I'm pretty rude to him...I can't stand pushy sales people. I gave him the "come hither" look and curly finger. He looked around like you would at a party if you didn't know the person was waving to you. Then he pointed to himself and mouthed "ME?" I nodded and he came trotting over. "What can I do fo ya, mam?" he asked. "Do you have any means of fixing this?" I asked, doubting it. "Oh yeah, no problem" he said. "Just pull ya ca ova hea."
Five minutes and thirty bucks later the divit was gone. Good as new! Wow! I told him I couldn't believe my eyes and tried to give him a tip, but he refused. He asked my name, and I asked his. Al. Nice guy. Well, he's nice now that he fixed my windshield. I should be nicer to people. I just always feel like crawling into a shell when those sales people come up to me. And the Brooklyn accent didn't help. Maybe that's the L.A. still in me. No tolerance and no socialization with strangers. Something to work on.
Later in the afternoon I was sitting at the computer and I pulled up the dashboard on my Mac. One of the widgets is a Hermosa Beach Cam...the beach right near my hometown. I put it on there so we could check things out now and again. So I get this crazy idea and call my husband. "Hey, honey! You don't happen to be in Hermosa Beach, do you?" "Well, yeah!" he said. I'm having a drink with my buddy at Patrick Molloy's "Why?" "Ooo. Ooo!" I said. "Right now, please go
run over to that orange consruction sign at the end of the promenade. I wanna see if I can see you!." So he did. And I saw him. It was so cool! The picture doesn't really do it justice. I was so excited I forgot to use my brain and just do a screen shot, so in true Kristen fashion I whip out the camera and take a picture of the screen. Duh. Anyway, he's the guy in the white shirt standing next to orange sign. See him? Cute, huh?# posted by Kristen–well minded @ 5:08 PM 
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That's awesome! Aw, you got to see B in his native habitat. Or your native habitat, as the case may be. And liquid glass...gotta remember that--amazing!
# posted by 
: 10:46 AM
: 10:46 AM
Thank you, my faithful commenter. You know the day you don't comment on something I'm going to start feeling insecure about our relationship, right? :)
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