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One of my main experiences with them went thusly:

I was driving an epic '66 Corvair Corsa down the street, minding my own business, when some old lady was crossing at a crosswalk. Like some retard, I stopped for her/ Last thing I remember was some huge truck thing in my rearview mirror coming on at insane speed. Next thing I know, I'm... somewhere... off to the side of the road somehow, I think. Rear end smashed well into the engine, which was somehow still running, even though oil was spraying everywhere.

Mormons were there and offered to help however they could, namely by pushing the wreckage out of the street I guess. I mentioned that my house was just a few blocks away, so they dropped their bikes and pushed my car all the way home. What cool guys. I tried to pay the, offer them beers, whatever. They just blessed my and went on their way, leaving a somewhat positive impression of their ilk.

I tried super hard to fix that car because it had been a showpiece prior to that... or it was getting there. It drove like a giant insane go-kart. The body shop guy thought I was retarded for trying, but he pulled the frame back out to something kind of like it was, but it was never the same again, and all sorts of random things kept falling apart. And then the city stole it so I just let them keep it, since it was pretty much fucked at that point anyway, but. Yeah.

The girls next door where I grew up were much hotter