Why gay men don't drive minivans.

For those of you who don't remember, I got into a car accident in late August that wasn't my fault. The Buckhead mom in her SUV was backing up in my store's parking lot to give an exiting car more room, and she didn't see me. So my Saturn's hood is all dented. And my lights are misaligned. And one of them doesn't work (which may be due to the burned-out bulb in it more than the accident itself).

So I've been looking for body shops all this time, moreso because it's a hassle than anything else. And Ron gave me the phone number for one - in Duluth - he's used before that has a rental car office nearby, so I made an appointment to bring in my banged-up, basically worthless Saturn for repair.

The Buckhead mom's insurance is paying for everything, of course. Even the rental car. (Of course, getting them to give the OK on that one took all day yesterday, but they did give their OK.)

So I dropped my car off at the body shop on my lunch break, going later than usual because my supervisors weren't in the office today. And the body shop called Enterprise Rent-A-Car to come pick me up.

I filled out the paperwork before they told me that they had a pickup truck or a minivan that I could select as my replacement car for, hopefully, the next four days of driving.

"Don't you have any sedans?" I asked the clerk. "I'm used to driving a smaller car."

"Nope," he said, "this is what's here right now. You can go look at them if you would like. I'll show you some of their features."

So he walks me to the pickup truck, telling me that it was a bit wider than the car I was used to driving.

"Of course, living in Buckhead, you'll be able to load up all your friends into the back of this baby's bed here if you want," he said. "Then you guys can really hit the town."

I pictured myself for a moment in the pickup truck.

And I thought, "Wait, I'm not butch or a lesbian."

And the rental guy tossed the keys to the minivan into my limp-wristed hands.

Reminding myself of Buckhead Mom's SUV - and of the reason I'm in this situation, the first thing I did in the van was adjust my mirrors and seat to assure that I can see behind me.

Damn, I hated that minivan. Just in that moment.

It reminded me of the U-Haul truck I tried to drive a year ago and how, because it was so big, I was afraid of crushing other cars like bugs beneath me.

"Usually, we don't rent out cars on 'Empty,'" the rental guy said, smiling. "But unfortunately, you've got 26 miles on this before you're out of gas. Luckily, there's a QT just down the street, less than a mile, so you should make it."

I smirked.

But I did make it there. And I left the QT and got to the intersection of Pleasant Hill and Satellite (less than a mile from the rental agency).

I was stopped at the intersection, wondering if I was going to be able to drive this damn minivan.

Suddenly, a sports car attempted to brake behind me but didn't, bumping the back of the new rental car.

"I can't believe this ... I can't believe this," I said to myself. Then, pulling into a parking lot with the other driver, I repeated the same sentiment.

So, checking to see that everything was basically all right except for a small impression on the van's bumper, I called Enterprise.

"Hello, I'm Benjamin, and I just left there 10 minutes ago ... Somebody just hit me in the van."

After asking me if I was kidding, the rental agent told me that I'd need to file a police report, which I knew, and a claim with my insurance company.

So I called 911, and a patrol car was dispatched to my location. And the officer told me that there was really negligible damage, and he told me that a cleaning solution would fix the damage to the van's bumper.

But I got him to write a report, and I called my insurance company. And I got the girl's insurance information.

And I headed back to the rental agency, where I was alternating between incredible frustration and tremendous amusement.

I called my office and tried to explain why my lunch break was taking three hours.

And then I went back to Enterprise and tried to explain the mild fender bender while my mood alternated madly between intense frustration and incredible amusement.

"I can't believe this ... I can't believe this," I kept saying to myself, holding my head in my hands while calling every number in my cell phone memory that I thought might find it funny.

The new rental agent kept staring at me while I did this, waiting for them to bring me a Grand Am that was turned in after I left them. (So now I'm in a sedan.)

"Are you all right?" she asked me.

"Yeah, I'm just a drama queen," I said. "And this is, like, the dumbest situation I've ever been in ... EVER."