the underclass, part II

on sunday a brazilian man without a driver's license backed into my car.

there is no point in beating around the bush to come out with the punchline here; this is not latin class where i save the verb, and hence the climax of my story, for the very end of the sentence.

A FUCKING BRAZILIAN MAN WITHOUT A LICENSE BACKED INTO MY CAR. driving his friend's car with brazilian spawn in the backseat. and i'd been behind him, cruising along at 15 mph down the one-way road in my complex, for about a minute. he stopped, i stopped, and waited... and i was about to give him the "move your ass or pull over" horn when his reverse lights came on. though i was about a car length behind, the alarm bells rang and i shakily tried to throw my shifter into reverse (where it never wants to go) while simultaneously coming off the brakes, bracing for impact and leaning on my horn and screaming some massacred conglomerate of 'motherfucker,' 'cocksucker,' 'what the fuck,' 'asshole,' and 'douchebag.' it probably went something like "MOTHERFAAACOCKSUWHATTHEFAASSHOODOUCHEBA!" and my voice cracked a lot cause i screamed that loud. but i still heard the crunch of bumpers colliding and my car was kicked back a few feet, because the bastard never looked behind him or lifted off the gas.

i didn't just get out of my car, i GOT UP OUT of my car, still streaming variations of "fuck" words and glaring at the children, and this short little pissant brown man sporting a goofy "oopsie" smile. he tried to tell me there was no damage, ok, no problem, ok...i will spare you the broken verbal exchange it took for me to ascertain that he not only had no insurance, but had no driver's license. and never had; apparently this fine citizen-to-be is getting his US license out of a cracker jack box in 3 weeks. i tried to convey "well you can't drive until you have that, and judging from this you ought not to anyway," but the finer points were lost on him.

i don't know if "i give you cell phone, you call me, i pay" works in brazil, but i'm not too trusting. i asked for whatever brazilian photo ID he had, and proceeded to copy every last number off it onto my gym progress tracking sheet with a blue sharpie. so it probably looks like "bicep: 2x10 noticia para el mundo 453675 leg extension cuidado el piso mojado A2358Z237" etcetera. the guy looked like he was trying to squeeze out a turd whose diameter increased with every question i asked him and every detail i wrote down. i was like, so this is your friend's car? he's gonna be pissed. and he goes, "yeah, i know."

so i hated brazil, brazilians, and even portuguese sweet rolls, which are so good, for the entire day. then this morning i was reminded how awesome all the brazilian kids are at the dunkies i stop at every morning. those little brown brains (just kidding!) never get my order wrong...they always have my coffee waiting for me, and are so friendly, and never run into my car. so i am over my 24-hour xenophobia.

having gotten the rage out of my system and slept on it, i agree that the damage is practically invisible to all but me. a very bent license plate, a scratch in the bumper, a bulge on the top of the bumper, and some worse paint spidering (there had already been some from this mishap involving a fire hydrant and a midget. but that is a story for another day). i have not yet decided what to do with this heap of personal information i have on hector, but i am quite tempted to go scribble "for a good time, call" with his cell number in some less savory male bathrooms. i might even look up how to say that in brazilian portuguese, for real.