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Jerry of Jim’s Mobile Auto Body based out of Jim’s or Jerry’s car introduced himself to us by talking soundlessly and pointing to the giant dent in our passenger-side door. I couldn’t hear him because the giant dent prevented the window from going down. This has been the case for more than a year, when a friend having a party and trying to conserve parking told us to park at the end of her driveway. Then she forgot she needed something for said party, slammed her Honda into reverse, and CRUNCH.
We—-OK, well really my husband. It’s his car. I take the bus—-took the car to the dealership in Northern Virginia which quoted us a price: $2,000. The door, they said, would have to be replaced. Seemed not quite right, so we said no thanks and continued to drive around with a dented door and window that would not go down. When, on occasion, I needed to spit out my gum, I would instruct my husband to roll down his window and then we would see if I had good aim. These are fun times in the car.
Then Jerry came into our lives. Jerry pulled up just as we were about to leave and told us he could fix our door, right there, in about 30 minutes, for $275. We were skeptical, but Jerry told us we could leave the car locked, we could stand right there and watch him work, and we didn’t have to pay him until he was done. In cash, natch.
Jerry also told us—-after we said yes—-that he’s been working on cars since he was 10. He also said that he’s been working with Jim, the owner of Jim’s Mobile Auto Body, for two years and Jim let him have the tools over the holiday to make a little extra scratch. Jerry wanted to take his wife somewhere nice for their 11th wedding anniversary.
Jerry started pounding on our door, right there on Biltmore Street NW, and put some sort of suction-thing on it. And dang if it didn’t work. The window went down. The door was no longer dented. He sanded it, slapped on some navy primer and told us how to get the exact color of paint we’d need. Then he gave us his card and told us he’d come back to paint it. Right there on Biltmore again, or wherever else we find a spot in the Adams Morgan parking wars.
So screw you, Dealership. Oh, and if you want to find your own Jerry, sit in your car and see if he comes along. Or try Craigslist. I’m fairly certain this is him.