Archive for September 25th, 2007


I know my car isn’t all that pristine anymore.  I know there’s a little beauty mark on the rear quarter panel where I backed into a pickup truck at the gas station.  (Sidebar:  the guy should not have had his tailgate down.  Clearly it was his fault.  I could not see it.)  I know there’s a scuff on the other rear quarter panel, courtesy of a shopping cart somewhere. 

But don’t you think you should have at least left me a note saying you were sorry for the big-ass white scrape you left all down the driver’s side doors?  And maybe some contact information? 

Moreover, it needs to be YOUR insurance company who fixes this, not mine. 

Don’t even tell me you don’t have insurance.  Just don’t. 

See, this car of mine, she’s all paid for and stuff.  I’m loving life, not having a car payment.  I intend to drive my car until the wheels fall off or the engine falls out or it disintegrates into a rust heap all around me.  And that last thing might happen, sooner rather than later, seeing as how stupid people keep scuffing into me in dimly lit parking lots and compromising the integrity of my paint job. 

Is this how your parents raised you?  To duck responsibility? 

I probably wouldn’t be the least bit upset if you had just owned up to your mistake and offered to take care of it.  But no.  YOU had to drive off into the night without even a backward glance.  Just because my car isn’t new doesn’t mean that I don’t want to keep it looking relatively nice.  It’s got to last me a long time, because I have a kid in Catholic school, and if you know anything at all, you know that something like that ain’t cheap. 

I know you drive a white car.  I’ll be looking for a white car with a bit of dark green paint on the bumper.  Heaven help you if I find you. 

— Mox

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