This is my entry for Contest Weekly Wattpad Contest #36.

"Are you OK, Miranda?" I heard Sal ask. I simply blinked as I stood there unbelieving.

There's no way that happened, right?

In Los Angeles, where it's not supposed to rain, I was splashed movie-style by a car that drove through a puddle.  First of all, getting full-body splashed by a car is only supposed to happen on the big screen.  Second of all, it isn't supposed to rain in a desert.  And third, my mouth was open and everything.

"Miranda?" Sal prompted, nudging my unmoving form.

"There's dirty street slash rainwater in my mouth and all over my clothes and on my face and-"

"But you're not hurt."

If it were anyone else, I'd have argued that point.  I mean, I don't care about not getting hurt.  There was dirty street slash rainwater in my mouth!

But this wasn't anyone else. It was Sal.  Sal.  "I guess not," I laughed. "But of course this would happen to me.  One month in L.A. and not only has it rained basically non-stop, but I got splashed by a car driving through a puddle.  You write screen plays, right. Make one on my life. You'd make bank on that comedy."

He chuckled in response and shook his head. "No, at this point your life's movie would be a trilogy with absolutely no fluidity. And no one would believe it's actually based on a true story."

That was true enough.  My whole life was a series of unbelievably unrealistic, yet apparently completely realistic events. He didn't believe I'd run into a wooden door like it was a clean glass door in a commercial for some window cleaning solution. Then he saw milkshake come out of my nose and with that came the disappearance of any attraction he could've possibly had to me, but at least he believed all of my crazy stories afterwards.

"Anyways, we should finish up with this trash so you can get home and get out of your 'dirty rain slash street water' clothes," he said with a grin.

"Don't mock me," I grumbled as I pushed past him and walked the rest of the way to the dumpster. He laughed as he caught up, threw his bags of trash into the dumpster, then held it open for me. I glared at him for good measure before throwing my three bags in as well.

"Aw, don't be mad," he said as he pulled me into a tight hug.

"Ugh, get off me," I said as I pushed him off half-heartedly but with a genuine smile. "You smell like restaurant trash and your hands are dirty."

He laughed, but let me go without saying the response I knew was on his mind. We walked inside to finish helping close up the restaurant, both smiling at my expense.