It's been a month since my van and I were broadsided. And I just finally got my van back last Friday.
When we dropped it off for the estimate, I kept telling everyone that something was bent. The steering and alignment were just so far off, that something just had to be bent in that mysterious land of things too complicated for my little girly brain to understand under my vehicle.
They mmmmed at me, and I was sure that I'd be bringing my van back time and time again to get things right.
So my husband went to pick it up, and it looked beautiful. He turned in the rental, hopped in our van and drove away. Only to find that the steering wheel still had to be held at a 90 degree angle to get the van to drive straight.
So he turned that wheel right back around and returned to the collision center.
There he was in his flight suit with his new rank all shiny, and they hopped right to it to get it fixed right this time. They even gave him a loner car for the afternoon.
I had a bent tie rod. I could have fucking told them that!
But I'm just a girl. And I must have been all shook up from an accident that must have surely been my fault. How could I possibly know what might be wrong with the car that I've driven every day for four years?
It's time to put some Gwen Stefani, or Melissa Etheridge, or oooh, some old Alanis Morisette on the iPod. I can feel the estrogen boiling over, and it ain't gonna be pretty.