The fear of being deported

The Best Man (aka the boy) had just made me get new wipers, a bulb, and some stuff to put in my gas tank. After having impressed the guys at Advanced Auto by taking 7 minutes to put on my new blades, I decided to fill up for the week and put the "stuff" in my tank. I'm talking to The Best Man on the phone as I'm about to turn into Sheetz for gas. The light turns green and yeah, I'm on the phone so I hesitate a minute before I step on the gas to take the L turn.

Next thing I know, I hear a crash and look behind me to see a big, pimped out, red pick-up truck w/ two Hispanic men in hats. I notice the cross and beads hanging from their rear view mirror are swaying haphazardly.

Then, I realize, the dude RAN INTO ME!

I didn't feel it or anything and thought okay, no big deal. We'll turn and then pull over to assess any damage. After having thrown my phone to the ground, I yell at it, hoping The Best Man will hear, but not be overly concerned, "The ******* rear-ended me!! I'll call you back!!" So, at this point I finally pull through the light. Next thing I know, the dudes are squealing in front of me and down the road. I yell at my car, "Andale, andale!" I'm frantically waving my arms in the air; shaking my fists; honking my horn all at the same time.

After a block and a half I come to the realization that I may have a gun pulled on me if I keep pursuing them. I pull over. Call The Best Man. Tears rolling down my face. I inspect the rear of my car. So, from various parking incidents downtown, my bumper doesn't look as spry as it used to. However, I note FIVE new nicks and scratches in the middle of my bumper.

Seriously, who rear-ends someone at 3 mph and speeds away unless they do not want to get arrested slash deported? That's messed up. I'd like to vote for more border patrol, please!