Lovebirds & A Disembodied Voice

This is a bird I believe goes by the name of "Peach-Faced Lovebird." I first saw one in my neighbor's backyard, eating some sunflower seeds. I'm not a spy or anything, but the sunflower was tall enough for me to see. I thought, "What is a tropical bird of such magnificent color doing in Mesa, AZ?" 
Later, talking to my friend who used to work at a zoo and who knows a vast deal about many species, I learned that a migration had occurred and these birds now frequent this area. 
This morning, as I put gas in my car, I noticed a Mesquite tree full of these pretty little birds. Their cry is very distinctive. There were more than a dozen in the tree, and I watched them for a while, enjoying the morning sunshine. 
Suddenly, this strange voice with a heavy accent came over the speaker next to the little screen where you put your credit card. It was a male voice, and he sounded like he was of Middle Eastern descent. 
"You put diesel in your car?"
Unsure of what to do, I sort of slid up to the speaker and went, "Uh, yeah."
"You sure? Your car takes diesel?"
At this, I began to take umbrage. I mean, I love guys. I love everything about them. Except the part where they assume I don't have a brain. I mean, I know the difference between regular and diesel fuel. And this is not the first time I have been approached at the gas station by a guy asking me if I was putting the right kind of fuel in my car. Although that was an actual physical encounter, not a disembodied voice who's source was undefinable. Obviously he could see me, from the depths of the convenient store, but I couldn't see him. 
After answering him a third time in a slightly heated voice that my car does indeed take diesel fuel, he was quiet, and everyone else at the station was looking at me like, "Why is she carrying on a conversation with the speaker? Who does that?" And my bird-watching reverie was pretty much spoiled. 
Then the voice comes back. It sounded like,
"We take your car?"
Which made me think he wanted to borrow my car. Things get muddled, you know, over speakers. 
I said, "Excuse me?" again in a heated voice. He repeated himself.
"What year is your car?"
So I told him, as well as the precise location of the dealership in Chandler where it came from, the approximate price, and how many miles it gets to the gallon. And everyone is continuing to stare at me, and all my little lovebirds have probably flown away. But I am starting to enjoy the conversation, and it is kind of fun to talk back and forth on the speaker by the screen. 
Then my car is all gassed up and I must go. I tell him good luck, as he has confided in me that he is looking for the perfect car. 
I might need a little luck too, trying to find a quote that matches this story... it might just be creepy. 

(actually, no problem, thanks to Google)


Why do birds sing in the morning? It's the triumphant shout: "We got through another night!"
Enid Bagnold

But calm, white calm, was born into a swan.
Elizabeth Coatsworth

Be like the bird in flight . . . pausing a while on boughs too slight, feels them give way beneath her, yet sings knowing yet, that she has wings.
Victor Marie Hugo