on having a ghetto car

It's been cold here in the south, and in my city we have a lovely group of folks that open a warming centre when the temp gets below a certain point. They aren't affiliated with the city, so they ask for volunteers from churches and the like. My job has slowed and my hours have been cut, so I've got a bit of free time. I decided, hey, why not sign up with these lovely people?
I show up a bit before 9am, clean and move some tables and chairs, and do some other menial tasks. Then the girl I'm working with pulls her phone out, says "hold on, I've got a text," then laughs and shows me the photo. Really, it's like it's happening in slow motion.
"Yeah...that's my car..." I say, quickly, before she can add a commentary. The awkward factor has just sky-rocketed.
Then the sender of the text comes in, and the other girl tries to explain [warn her].
I really don't want them to feel uncomfortable, so I crack a few jokes, even noting that it doesn't lock and that I'm fairly certain people have slept in it.
"Oh, so it's kind of a blessing!" text-sender-girl says, brightening.
Over her shoulder I see her shiny, new, fancy SUV...
"Mmmhmmm..." I say, suuuure is [sugar plum]...(because she gets it...sure)