**This is just a little something I wrote after a guy at school kept banging his car door up against mine. It really made me mad that he felt no remorse for killing my car door like he so carelessly did, so instead of bashing his head in, I wrote out my feelings. **




I was just zipping up my beige Franco Sarto purse when I heard the thunk. My head jolted up, hitting the flip-down mirror. After a week of this, I was willing to bet a million bucks that I had no more teeth left. No more, because I had probably grinded them to dust after every thunk and thud I gritted through. This, though, was enough. I have about- No, not about. I have had it with every thunk and thud Old Girl's had to go through for the past 175 days. My poor little '98 Ford Mustang is about to croak as it is without the help of some careless thunk-happy idiot banging his ugly Chevrolet up against it!
'Excuse me,'� I yelled after him, throwing open my door and marching over to him.
'Yep,'� he said, giving me permission to keep going as he chunked his book bag in the bed of his green Z71.
'I understand if you don't like the color of my car,'� I began, clasping my hands together. 'But that is no excuse to rub off your ugly greenness onto my Mustang with your truck door.'�
He furrowed his brows at me, as if confused - puh-lease - and walked around to the passenger's side of my car. He tilted his head to the left, then right, then reared back. A bit of a frown slid through his lips. He took a deep breath, looking as if the most solemn of apologies were about to spill from his mouth, then said, 'I don't see anything,'� and walked back around to the other side of his truck.
I paused, licked my teeth, and plopped my hands on my hips. 'You don't see anything,'� I said slowly.
'Nope.'�
'Well, then,'� I continued. 'Did you just think that my car was red with green polka dots?'�
'Have a twenty,'� he said, flicking a twenty dollar bill at my feet. 'And go get a paint job.'�
I gasped, completely in awe and stupefied by his rude behavior. 'I'll have you know that I will not be treated in such a manner.'�
'Hey, Ms. Daisy, you're not sixty,'� he said. 'How 'bout talkin' your age.'�
'You really do want to die, don't you?'� I asked.
'What?'�
'Excuse me for a moment,'� I said, holding up my index finger, and yanking open my car door to hit his'�hard.
'Son of a-'�
'Oopsie'�'�
'You just hit my truck,'� he yelled, extending his arms in the direction of his door.
'Looks like,'� I said.
'Look at that,'� he yelled. 'Look at that dent, that paint!'�
'I learn from the best,'� I replied with a facetious smile.
'Oh, no, no, no,'� he said, shaking his finger in my face. I slapped it away. 'You're not getting away with this. You'll pay.'�
'You won't be able to prove that I did it,'� I challenged.
'Is that so,'� he said, cocking his head to the side.
'That is so, actually. Since no one rides to or from school with me there would be no reason for my passenger's side door to ever be opened. But, you're driver's side door happens to open up on my passenger's side door. Ergo, all fingers point to you. Oh, and Shana saw you hit my car door the other day after school. So, I have witnesses.'�
'You bitch.'�
'That's what they say.'�

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