The day from the movies.

My brother once said that if his life ever stops feeling like a movie, it's time to change it up. I don't think I need to change anything for a while.

About three months ago, my scooter started having trouble with the carburetor. About two months ago, it got so bad that it started dying on me at stoplights, and I got desperate to get it fixed. So I got it to a shop (rather, a friend of mine did... but that's another story) that was recommended by this friend's friend, and even despite bad reviews online, I decided I'd trust this friend's friend and the one positive online review. The mechanic had my scooter for a few days while I was in Fresno, and I picked it up the day after I got back. It ran well! Hooray!!!

Two days later, I was riding to work on a 50mph four lane rode, when something in the engine snapped, and I coasted to a stop on the side of the road. This whole day is another story, too. But I'll just sum it: a man picked me and my scooter up and gave us a ride home in his truck. He seemed like a cool guy, and he proved to be in our short acquaintance. (Dear Jesus, thank You for keeping me safe.) Once I got home, I called the mechanic, and he said he'd pick up my scooter and take it to his shop to figure out what was wrong with it and only charge me for the gas. Oh, good! How reasonable of him!!

A few days later, he called and said that the whole top half of the engine would need to be rebuilt, and it would cost $600. I thought about it for a week, and decided that having a new engine for $600 would be less expensive than a new scooter or motorcycle or car, so I decided to go for it. He had me pay a $400 deposit (oops... never again), and said he'd have to order parts and wait for them to get there, then put in a bunch of hours... it'd be a few weeks. Okay, I said, as long as I get a well-working engine, that was fine with me.

A couple weeks later, I called him to see how it was going and when I could pick it up, and he said he was still waiting for a part; call back next week. This went on for the next month. "Still need a few days, call back next week," shop is closed, "a mechanic quit on me leaving tons of extra work, I'm doing all I can for you," shop is closed, yada yada yada.

On Saturday, I asked them to make it a priority and have it done on Monday. Last night (Sunday), I talked to a good friend and she helped me see that I really have the right and need to demand my scooter back. So I decided to go get it, unannounced, the next morning (this morning).

I was really nervous about my decision, because while I was infuriated and ready to punch someone, I was concerned about what might go down. I don't think I've explained this: the mechanic is in his 50s, about 6'3", 250lb, has a long goatee and bald head with flaming tattoos up his arms and neck, has a very powerful and angry presence. He seemed civil and nice unless I asked too many questions, which held me at bay for much too long. So when I decided to go demand my scooter back, I knew I was walking into something that could be quite--how shall I put it lightly--unpleasant.

I tried to go to sleep, but I couldn't relax. So at about 1am, I turned on my computer, got on facebook, and watched some netflix. A friend from church was online, and we started chatting. He asked how I was, and I told him what I was planning to do the next day. "Want some back up?" he asked. YES, PLEASE. Because I knew he would be with me, I was able to get some sleep.

So Brandon and I went to the shop together. The mechanic said he'd need another week because he had to order more parts (right...), and I asked him to write down the day it would be ready and sign it. "No. I don't do that s***." We asked him why, and he said it was a waste of his time. "So waste five minutes of your time for me, and write it down," I said, in a far more stern voice than I ever thought I'd use with a man of his stature. (Honestly, I'm pretty pleased with how tough I was with him.) He said no (in anger with profanities), and Brandon said that if he didn't, we'd call the cops. (I had my phone out already.) He started yelling, ripped of his glasses and pushed towards Brandon, and I dialed 911. My attention was split for the next while as I tried to talk to the person on the other end, but I remember asking for a card with their address on it (ha! Awkward...), getting yelled at to get the f*** off this guy's land, walking to a spot one foot away from his driveway, and continuing the conversation with the sheriff department (I guess I got transferred to them at some point!).

The mechanic yelled that he'd give us back the scooter and the money I paid, too, and he put the scooter (and pieces) next to us on the side of the road, still using very rough and (supposedly) intimidating language. (At this point, I wasn't afraid of him. I mean, I wasn't going to ask him to hit us or anything, but I hadn't peed my pants at his first outrage, so I wasn't afraid of him anymore. Instead, I laughed and shook my head... which is more angering than language and threats, I know. So hah, big tough guy.) One of the younger mechanics (also a big guy, though a bit apologetic and caught in the middle) came out with an invoice with stuff written on it and said that it stated that I was getting all my parts back, and if I signed it, I'd get my money back. "How much money will I get back?" I asked, interrupting the 911 call. "Uh... $300," he responded. "No. I gave him $400. I want $400." "Okay," he said, "but you'll have to talk to Sam about it, and he probably won't give you anything." I decided to risk it.

After a while, a deputy sheriff came out and asked what the trouble was. I explained everything to him, and told him that I wanted my $400 back. He told me that he couldn't make Sam pay it back, but he could go tell him to. His job, as an officer, was to keep the peace. So he told us to stay outside while he went in and talked to the guy. (Thank goodness we didn't have to.) He came back, saying that the guy wasn't going to pay anything, and said that if we want to pursue this, it's a civil case. Okay.

During the wait before the officer arrived, Brandon made arrangements to leave the scooter with the mechanic next door while he and I drove across town to pick up his dad's truck with which to take my scooter back to my house. (Have I said already how glad and relieved I was that he was there with me?! Oh my goodness.)

So that's what we did. Though the truck ran out of gas on the freeway and Brandon had to siphon some into the tank (and probably swallowed half a gulp). Poor Brandon! After seeing what his body went through in trying to get rid of the gas, I would not even want the crooked mechanic to drink a sip. (Although... no! Happy thoughts, Sarah!)

Finally, we got back to the scooter and started loading it. One of Sam's mechanics came over and said, "So how's it workin' out for ya'?" I wasn't sure if he was being sarcastic or apologetic. I decided he was being apologetic, so I said, "Man, how is it working for that guy?!" in a friendly I-fear-for-your-life tone. "Eh, it's fine! We've been friends for fifteen years!" "Okay," I responded, "you must be on his good side. Good for you." Sam was standing in his driveway, laughing loudly. (Oh! Earlier, when the sheriff and we were leaving, someone called out in a very mocking tone, "Have a nice day!" I looked back into the dark shop and flashed a huge grin. Sir, you will not make me unprofessional no matter how hard you try.)

I tied down the scooter, and aside from one tip (that was the truck bed's fault, not mine), there were no more incidences on the way home. Except for being pulled over by a cop, of course, who told us (at the end of some questions) that he pulled us over because the scooter looked suspicious, but we didn't look like criminals. Aside from that, we got home just fine.

We unloaded the scooter and parts and headed out on the road again to get some FOOD and switch cars, then go to the beach and play music to relax. (It was about 3 or 4pm at this point.) We were relieved that the day was done. But it wasn't.

The truck broke down on the freeway, and after a few hours of waiting and towing, Brandon and I finally got to his car, went to In-N-Out (the most delicious I've ever had), then he took me home.

Dad and I talked through the day, and he said that he hasn't paid the bill on the credit card that I used to pay the mechanic with, so he challenged it, and hopefully the guy won't get the $400 at all. It sucks that my scooter is ripped apart, but I have it back. It sucks that it all went down the way it did, but I know that I can be tough and strong, and still stay professional even when a big scary guy gets angry. And I know that a lot of people love me (you facebook peeps are awesome!) and are interested in my life. And I have another good friend who was there with me and for me the whole day, and even drank some petrol. (Please don't ever do that again, Brandon.) And I banked on God's protection, grace, and justice, and He came through. And now I'm showered, cozy, and safe, and am thinking about talking to my roommate (who is a lawyer) about possibilities.

So today, the day from the movies, we won.