On the Pros & Cons of Knowing In Advance What Your Auto Glass Repairman Looks Like

As one of the millions of Americans ‘searching’ for work and finding the apparent pickings so slim as to even warrant a pick, I have, like my fellow millions, thus far failed to find much by way of constructive hobbies.  Of course I could lay down that six album rock opera I’ve always dreamed of recording, the one about the misunderstood teenage computer gamer who gets his revenge against some vague negative life influences; or I could finally take up woodcarving, exposing my lack of patience and artistic flair in equally quick and conclusive manner; or I could (continue) to amass the world’s (okay, local area’s) greatest collection of golden era pornography (early 2006 to mid-November 2008).  But none of these seemed anything less than a whole bunch of work.  So instead, like my millions, I decided to medicate my dying brain with a little TV.

Quickly I ingested so much meaningful information.  I learned that Jack Prescott is still the busiest bankruptcy attorney in Minnesota (which begs the question why he needs to advertise so much), and that it (settling your bankruptcy) is all he does and he does it well.  I became aware that Jimmy Dean smoked sausages are all but guaranteed to satisfy any man-sized appetite and that they will transport your entire family to that special era when families sat and ate together, smiling all the while.  I found out I might have mesothelioma, which could rake in some serious clams, but was disheartened to learn it would have required years of exposure in order to file my rightful claim against Big Asbestos.  I was alerted to the fact there are numerous means of cashing in on my structured settlement, one of which apparently involves operatic Vikings singing about it on buses.  When my confusion abated, I was coldly reminded that although I clearly need cash now, I have no legitimate structured settlement-like arrangement that would convince a singing Viking or any other structured settlement specialist to hand over a fat sack of greenbacks.

I also learned that a local auto glass repair company has instituted what has to be the greatest leap forward in auto glass repair since, well, auto glass repair.  This fine company, intent on ensuring the most positive glass repair experience, was the ONLY one in the business (please note—I haven’t found the time to fact check this, but next week looks pretty open) that would not only confirm your appointment by email or smartphone, giving you an exact date and time (down to the quarter hour, unless the late morning Taco Bell drive-thru line was longer than usual), but, get this, they would also shoot you a personal photograph of the technician who would be showing you his plumber’s crack between 10 and 11:30 a.m. next Tuesday at your residence or workplace parking lot.

Now, I understand why putting a face on auto glass repair could potentially be helpful.  Ostensibly, it at minimum personalizes the experience in advance, upping the chances that you and Jerry will ‘click’ and that processing the transaction will be as simple as removing that unsightly windshield chip.  But, what if some other scenario unfolded, one where, say, you realized that Barney from the auto glass company was unquestionably the sexiest man alive (People magazine be damned!), inducing you to don your finest K-Mart lingerie prior to his sexy arrival?  Or, conversely, what if you were utterly disgusted by Phil’s appearance, and spent the next three days terrified of opening the door on that fateful (but very tightly scheduled) morn.  Or, God forbid, you were convinced you saw Larry on a wanted poster, sought for the crime of impersonating auto glass repairmen, then cutting up the repair needing victim with his or her own chipped windshield shards, then watching Price is Right and Maury Povich reruns while eating your calf muscles with an utterly perverse accoutrement of expired salsa, Cool Whip, braunschweiger (which seems, along with your supple leg meat, like meat redundancy) and Flamin’ Hot Extreme Crunch Cheetos.  I know, I know, this all seems a little unlikely and undoubtedly is the result of having too much time on my hands.  I’ll admit, dear reader, it is a little unlikely.

But still!  Let’s see some possible permutations of how a seemingly innocuous auto glass repair call can either go oh so right, or oh so wrong.


Auto Glass Repair Log: Carl, Specialist #65598: Serious windshield cob-webbing after, according to customer, “some jackass threw a god-damned full god-damned giant size can of beer out his window at like, 145 mph.”

Photograph sent per company policy:

Glass Repairman Carl.

Repair Outlook? Fair to really freaking horny.


Auto Glass Repair Log: Luigi, Specialist #78905: Minor chip in windshield, which, according to customer, will cause husband “to fucking kill me.  I’m not shitting you.”

Photograph sent per company policy:

Glass Repairman Luigi.

Repair Outlook? Wonderful smell of long, lustrous hair cascading all over your supple body.


Auto Glass Repair Log, Bucky, Specialist #22332: Serious crack in windshield, caused by “How the fuck should I know? It was just there. Can you send over Luigi again?”

Photograph sent per company policy:

Glass Repairman Bucky.

Repair Outlook? Always takes his hat off before makin’ sexy on a lady.


Auto Glass Rapists Log: Lester, Specialist #88946: Windshield completely missing after domestic incident.  Dispatcher note: Be especially gentle with this customer given the touchy nature of the situation.  Driver response to dispatch:  “You got it, bossman.”

Photograph sent per company policy:

Glass Repairman Lester.

Repair Outlook? Run and do not look back.


Auto Glass Repair Log: Malachi, Specialist #00666: Windshield problem not actually described, customer commented “I’m 85 and just want to be sure nothing is wrong with it so if you could send one of your nice boys over it would be a real blessing.”

Photograph sent per company policy:

Glass Repairman Malachi.

Repair Outlook? Utter fucking terror.


Auto Glass Repair Log: Mohammed, Specialist #21050: Windshield visual acuity obliterated by oversized “Fuck with the U.S. of A. and get a Boot Up Yer Ass” sticker.  Needs full replacement. Customer comment: “Just make sure the motherfucker speaks god-damned American like our forefathers ‘tended.”  Dispatcher comment to driver: “Look, man, you’re the only driver I have left.  Smile and don’t say a word.”

Photograph sent per company policy:

Glass Repairman Mohammed.

Repair Outlook? Dirty, Hairy Love or Thorny, Hairy International Incident.


So, as you can see, my imagination runs wild.  But, as you can also see, the auto glass advance photograph scheme clearly could have some pros and cons.  It might send you into pre-repair erotic bliss, imagining the naughty scenarios and double entendres about filling tiny divots with big tools.  Or, it could send you into an all-out panic, causing you to cancel the appointment outright and stare, although still alive, through a spider web of disturbing glass related terror.


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