The mechanic

"Fie fie.... dart not scornful glanced from those eyes." 

Dear Petruchio,

My mechanic called me while I was on a break at school last week. Here's how it went:

"So, this is Joe from...blank blank Auto Repair,"
"Hi," I said.
"Hey, how are your brakes?"
"Fine,"
"Have you gotten your wheel bearings fixed yet?"
"No," I said, grumpily, thinking about what the brake job cost me.
"I'm kinda broke right now," I said.
Then came the deep pause in the convo. A long pause. I was thinking I needed to get back to what I was doing, I had things to do.
"Well, I was wondering if you wanted to go out,"
I started to laugh.
"Really, you want to go out with me?" I said, thinking about the day we met, how destitute I must have looked rolling up in my demolition derby car, going on 340,000 miles, with the front bumped Gorilla taped on and a dent on the trunk where I kicked it when I found out my ex boyfriend got married three months after we broke up. (The Scottish guy who I moved to Idaho for, who secretly had another girlfriend on the side... oh for the love!)
I also tried to paint my car an unmatching gold color in the place where I turned too sharply backing out of my much too narrow apartment garage.
So, back to Joe.
"Why would you want to go out with me after you've seen my car," I said a bit puzzled. Did he feel sorry for me? Did he have a hero complex? Thought he could save me, or at least my car?
"I do," he said. "I want to go out with you."
I was thinking of the guy, the way he followed me outside and waved goodbye, sort of longingly as I pulled my busted car onto the highway. He wasn't bad looking, about my age and I remembered the way he laughed. The memory was good. And I would be lying if I didn't also wonder if he'd give me a better deal on new wheel bearings after the date.
"Sure, I'll go out with you." I said. "I'll call you after work."