My dad quickly rounded the corner in the grey Chrysler mini-van we borrowed from school. Crunch. Surprised at the unexpected sound and bump, I looked outside the car. Luckily, it was only the yam being sold on the corner of the street that we ran over. I got out of the car and proceeded to put the bags of yam back into the silver round bowls lining the floor.
I was expecting the immediate yelling from an ajooma (term for older Korean women) about running over her products, but it was silent. Then as I finished putting the yam back in the bowls, I saw the ajooma coming towards me from across the street. She started to complain about the car running over her yam. Yes, some of them were broken into smaller pieces. She told me to pay for the bags of yam that were broken. There was even an indent in her silver bowl, but she didn’t seem to mind. I apologized, paid her the money and left.
We ended up with two bags of yam to take home. Hopefully she won’t recognize me the next time I pass her fruit stand corner. I walk by it almost everyday.