Hey Buddy, it’s Time to Come Clean

You did it; you know it, it’s time to pay the piper.

If my car could talk, she’d have a story to tell because someone violently swung at her with their car door, and now she’s battered and bruised. I noticed the marks in her metal, but how long have they been there? I’m not the most observant person, and I bet the a-hole was banking on that.

It’s rude for someone to be reckless and not own up to their mistakes, but I’m hardly surprised. We live in a selfish society where one person’s careless actions go unpunished, while another suffers the consequences. I have parked in a lot of places. Finding the culprit would be next to impossible. I try to reassure my car that she’s still attractive and valuable. She’s aging in years, but she will always have a special place in my heart.

Before I got her, I was in a low place. I dealt with severe depression and anxiety, which, using public transit, exacerbated. But I had no choice. If I was to maintain my full-time job, riding the subway and taking the bus was common practice. I didn’t appreciate the body-to-body contact each morning or the claustrophobic feelings I weathered because of being underground, but I fell to this fate for years. As my anxieties increased, my self-esteem petered. Somehow, I wrapped my self-worth around an object that seemed far out of reach.

The day I bought her was the day I found myself again. I had moved out of upper town and further to the west. I needed a car to get to work and visit family. Not only did my car serve a useful travel purpose, but she also brought me a sense of peace. My mental health issues are best cared for when I am in the driver’s seat — literally. I can best control my anxieties while deciding if I should stay or go.

My car’s been good to me for the past eleven years, but she’s quite the lemon. There’s something wrong with her steering that makes high-speed driving feel unsafe. As the years carried on, I stopped driving highways, but she’s been the perfect city partner, getting me wherever I’ve needed to go.

Then one day, when I was coming home from shopping, a neighbour coming up the ramp from the parking garage hit me head-on. My car suffered extensive damage. The horrified driver admitted she had been talking on her phone and confused the gas pedal for the brake. She spun me around and hit me twice — as if once was not enough. My car suffered $8,000 worth of damage and weathered weeks of auto mechanic care.

The rental dealership was friendly, but the mechanic turned out shady. I got caught in the middle between the two companies, plus my insurance, which left me dazed and confused. Despite the mechanic’s questionable practices, my car never looked better once completed. We spent many more beautiful years together until a wayward car struck again.

I had just finished lunch at a much-loved restaurant with a colleague who had taken an interest in my writing and was giving me some welcomed tips. After we finished, we made our way to the parking lot, where the spots were minuscule, but I had fit her in without incident. When I arrived back from my meal, I found a note on my windshield. The message included an apology and a phone number. Then my co-worker gasped and showed me the passenger’s side.

I noticed someone hit my car. How sweet was that to have the perpetrator’s number? I later found out there were too many witnesses for him to look away; they were holding the driver accountable. But lo-and-behold, he gave me his correct information. Once again, a body shop fixed my car — this time, it was an upstanding local shop — and my car and I reunited.

I have had many cars during my lifetime, but never have my previous autos met with so many accidents. This one has braved the hardships of destruction and withstood the process of repairs. Unfortunately, each rental never measured up to the relaxing feel my car gives me. When she’s down, my sense of self feels shaky.

Somebody took a swing at my car this week, and while her damage is minimal, my anger is palpable. There was no note, no ownership, and no doubt in my mind that the perpetrator knew they hit her. I suspect it happened when I parked in a co-worker’s spot next to the office the other day. Although the premises have security cameras, I didn’t have the guts to ask them to reel it back. Isn’t it too much to ask someone to watch a day’s footage to look for a crime that may or may not have happened on their property?

So, my car will endure her bruises. It’s one more dent in the years of our friendship. Today, she is as beautiful to me as the day I first got her. Someday, she will cease to fulfill her function as her parts age or meet with destruction head-on and end up totaled. But until that day, she is my lifeline to keep my anxieties at bay. Our travels are short-lived as I stick closer to home, but I will never take her for granted.

Those who recklessly swing your car door open when you exit a car or smash into someone in a public parking lot, please heed your actions and own up to your shortfalls. Accidents will happen, but you never know how important someone’s car is to them beyond taking them where they need to go. That’s why we have insurance. That’s also what it means to be kind.

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