Sorry! I Scraped Your Fender . . .
A couple of weeks ago I was out doing a little shopping. I had several places I needed to stop, and I wasn't really in a hurry. My dog, Riley, likes to come along, and I take him when the weather is decent for leaving a dog inside a car. So off we go, me and Riley, and head to the grocery store. I purchased what I needed and then realized that I should have stopped there last, because Riley has a little bit of a bad habit of getting into groceries while no one is in the car to stop him. In fact, two years or so ago he gnawed on a frozen solid turkey that I had purchased to donate to a food bank. Silly dog. All it did was make him sick from swallowing the plastic. You'd think he'd learn, but no, he's just a dog.
Anyhow, back to Macey's grocery store. Well, actually, back to the parking lot where I unloaded my sacks into the back of my van where I thought they had the best chance of surviving because it's a long ways over and down from the back seat to the floor. He'd really have to be desparate. And like a good citizen, I push my now empty cart to the clever little cart corral, congratulating myself on being a model of responsiblity, and head back to the car.
Next stop? The fabric store. I get about half way there and realize I don't have my wallet/planner/purse deal alongside me on the seat. Huh? Where was it then? Certainly I couldn't have left it in the cart! I would have seen it. It's not little, it's good-sized! Uh oh, better head back there. And prayers are quickly flying up towards heaven that some kind soul found it and turned it in.
I pull into the lot and scan the carts in the corral. Empty. All of them. My heart's starting to pound a little harder because I know what a huge hassle it is to have to call everywhere and cancel all of the cards and get a new driver's license, and what about the money? I like money.
No one really has a right to my money, even if it was only 3 paper ones and a handful of change. It's mine!
I park my van and remind Riley that if he values his life, he'll stay out of the cargo area and keep his fangs to himself. I walk empty-handed into the store and march right over to the customer service counter with an air of confidence because now I'm "acting" on the outside and pleading on the inside. "Uh, did anyone happen to turn in a wallet?" Both ladies swing their heads around and look me over. Yes, I know. It's completely irresponsible to have left it in the cart, not to mention stupid. No matter. I have business to take care of and I'm hoping for the right answer. "What's your name?" My name? I was prepared to say, "It's a medium brown color with mauve trim. Very nice. I got it at the Franklin store last spring and it wasn't cheap, let me tell you!" Instead I say, "Cristi" and they smile, hand it over, and tell me they've just spoken with my husband about how it's sitting there at customer service.
I'm relieved and embarassed at the same time. I gratefully take it from them and head to the car while punching the buttons on my cell phone to tell Mike that I had retrieved it. He'd conveniently left me a message on my cell phone, which had been conveniently tucked inside the wallet, to let me know Macey's had called and that they had conveninetly held my wallet at customer service. Oh, brother.
So, after checking the dog's breath to make sure he hadn't found any delectables, I headed once again towards the fabric store. It's conveniently located about 3 minutes away from Macey's. And, boy, that parking lot was full today. All those women getting last minute supplies to make sure their children look fantastic on Halloween. But I spied a narrow empty spot not far from the door and swung my van around to slide in. I'm quite careful when it comes to making turns in parking spots because I'm just very cautious, that's all. So I'm going really slow when I realize that the car next to me is rocking a little bit. What's up with that? I keep going and realize that it's ME that's making that car rock. Uh oh! Do I back out or finish pulling in? It's really a tight squeeze here.
I decide just to finish pulling forward and put it in park. I hop out and walk around to find a nice long scrape on the fender of the neighboring car. Ooooops! That doesn't look good at all. And that, right there, was the moment of truth.
We've lived in Utah for more than 3 years now. I've found it to be an interesting thing when it comes to cars in parking lots. We've had more dings, scrapes, and dents show up here than all of the 20 plus years we lived in Oregon put together. And not once has anyone left us a note confessing their little misdeed. That's been a curiosity to me. And now look what I've done!
This is when the mental battle began. No one was out in the parking lot. Of course not because they're all inside getting what they need for their little ghosts and witches. I could very easily climb right back into the car and get the heck out of there, and who would ever know? I mean, really, look at all of the times this was done to us, and there must be people crusing through life knowing they dented our van and never 'fessed up. Hmmm. That's pretty tempting because this is really embarrassing.
Well, what to do? I go into the fabric store, somehow thinking I'll bump right into the car's owner and say, "Oh, I just gave your car this little teeny scrape. It's nothing. But I thought I'd just mention it," and off I'd go feeling right with the world. Instead, I paid for my little strip of black Velcro and headed out to the parking lot. Sure enough, there sat the car with the big long scrape and my moment of truth is now staring me right in the face.
What's Mike going to say? What's this going to cost? Is the car's owner going to rip me up one side and down the other because I was careless while parking? Doesn't really matter. It's integrity that counts, so I find the pad of Post-It notes that are conveniently placed between the front seats, and I make my confession and give my number. Quick! Stick it to the window before temptation takes over and you change your mind.
Off I drive, deciding to skip my other stops and just head home where there's a nice wide parking spot right in front of the house. I like that. But it's time to tell Mike what I've done and I don't like that. But I do it. And he's nice, and says that it probably was just a long smudge of black from what's under our silver paint. Oh, good. That's what I was hoping.
Later that afternoon I load the dog once again and retrieve my daughter from school. On the way home I glance over my shoulder to change lanes, signal and begin my manuever. BEEP BEEP BEEP! Oh, didn't see that car. It must have been behind the dog, and I nearly pulled right into it. Time to go home and stay put. Like Alexander, I was having a no good, very bad day.
No phone call about the scrape before bedtime, but the next day it comes. I recognize her voice - she's an employee at the store. It was mostly just black smudge, but there are four little scratches in the paint. She'll get an estimate and let me know. At least I didn't get yelled at, she didn't swear, and I didn't even wet my pants. That's good.
What's not so good is that the repair bill is a mere $500! Ouch!!! That's quite the price tag for being honest, but it's worth it. I don't have to live with the guilt, knowing that I really wouldn't have been the only one who knew. Knowing that my moment of testing had arrived and I'd failed. Nope. That would be worse than a no good, very bad day. That would be a no good, very bad life I think. And I don't want any part of it.
Now I'm even more cautious than ever when parking my van. I choose parking spaces that are a little further away where I have lots of space on all sides. I double-check my cart to make sure there's nothing left behind, and I look 3 or 4 times before scooting over into the neighboring lane. But my integrity is intact.
There's joy in that last statement. I choose to focus on that from now on.
InJoy,
Cristi
Anyhow, back to Macey's grocery store. Well, actually, back to the parking lot where I unloaded my sacks into the back of my van where I thought they had the best chance of surviving because it's a long ways over and down from the back seat to the floor. He'd really have to be desparate. And like a good citizen, I push my now empty cart to the clever little cart corral, congratulating myself on being a model of responsiblity, and head back to the car.
Next stop? The fabric store. I get about half way there and realize I don't have my wallet/planner/purse deal alongside me on the seat. Huh? Where was it then? Certainly I couldn't have left it in the cart! I would have seen it. It's not little, it's good-sized! Uh oh, better head back there. And prayers are quickly flying up towards heaven that some kind soul found it and turned it in.
I pull into the lot and scan the carts in the corral. Empty. All of them. My heart's starting to pound a little harder because I know what a huge hassle it is to have to call everywhere and cancel all of the cards and get a new driver's license, and what about the money? I like money.
No one really has a right to my money, even if it was only 3 paper ones and a handful of change. It's mine!
I park my van and remind Riley that if he values his life, he'll stay out of the cargo area and keep his fangs to himself. I walk empty-handed into the store and march right over to the customer service counter with an air of confidence because now I'm "acting" on the outside and pleading on the inside. "Uh, did anyone happen to turn in a wallet?" Both ladies swing their heads around and look me over. Yes, I know. It's completely irresponsible to have left it in the cart, not to mention stupid. No matter. I have business to take care of and I'm hoping for the right answer. "What's your name?" My name? I was prepared to say, "It's a medium brown color with mauve trim. Very nice. I got it at the Franklin store last spring and it wasn't cheap, let me tell you!" Instead I say, "Cristi" and they smile, hand it over, and tell me they've just spoken with my husband about how it's sitting there at customer service.
I'm relieved and embarassed at the same time. I gratefully take it from them and head to the car while punching the buttons on my cell phone to tell Mike that I had retrieved it. He'd conveniently left me a message on my cell phone, which had been conveniently tucked inside the wallet, to let me know Macey's had called and that they had conveninetly held my wallet at customer service. Oh, brother.
So, after checking the dog's breath to make sure he hadn't found any delectables, I headed once again towards the fabric store. It's conveniently located about 3 minutes away from Macey's. And, boy, that parking lot was full today. All those women getting last minute supplies to make sure their children look fantastic on Halloween. But I spied a narrow empty spot not far from the door and swung my van around to slide in. I'm quite careful when it comes to making turns in parking spots because I'm just very cautious, that's all. So I'm going really slow when I realize that the car next to me is rocking a little bit. What's up with that? I keep going and realize that it's ME that's making that car rock. Uh oh! Do I back out or finish pulling in? It's really a tight squeeze here.
I decide just to finish pulling forward and put it in park. I hop out and walk around to find a nice long scrape on the fender of the neighboring car. Ooooops! That doesn't look good at all. And that, right there, was the moment of truth.
We've lived in Utah for more than 3 years now. I've found it to be an interesting thing when it comes to cars in parking lots. We've had more dings, scrapes, and dents show up here than all of the 20 plus years we lived in Oregon put together. And not once has anyone left us a note confessing their little misdeed. That's been a curiosity to me. And now look what I've done!
This is when the mental battle began. No one was out in the parking lot. Of course not because they're all inside getting what they need for their little ghosts and witches. I could very easily climb right back into the car and get the heck out of there, and who would ever know? I mean, really, look at all of the times this was done to us, and there must be people crusing through life knowing they dented our van and never 'fessed up. Hmmm. That's pretty tempting because this is really embarrassing.
Well, what to do? I go into the fabric store, somehow thinking I'll bump right into the car's owner and say, "Oh, I just gave your car this little teeny scrape. It's nothing. But I thought I'd just mention it," and off I'd go feeling right with the world. Instead, I paid for my little strip of black Velcro and headed out to the parking lot. Sure enough, there sat the car with the big long scrape and my moment of truth is now staring me right in the face.
What's Mike going to say? What's this going to cost? Is the car's owner going to rip me up one side and down the other because I was careless while parking? Doesn't really matter. It's integrity that counts, so I find the pad of Post-It notes that are conveniently placed between the front seats, and I make my confession and give my number. Quick! Stick it to the window before temptation takes over and you change your mind.
Off I drive, deciding to skip my other stops and just head home where there's a nice wide parking spot right in front of the house. I like that. But it's time to tell Mike what I've done and I don't like that. But I do it. And he's nice, and says that it probably was just a long smudge of black from what's under our silver paint. Oh, good. That's what I was hoping.
Later that afternoon I load the dog once again and retrieve my daughter from school. On the way home I glance over my shoulder to change lanes, signal and begin my manuever. BEEP BEEP BEEP! Oh, didn't see that car. It must have been behind the dog, and I nearly pulled right into it. Time to go home and stay put. Like Alexander, I was having a no good, very bad day.
No phone call about the scrape before bedtime, but the next day it comes. I recognize her voice - she's an employee at the store. It was mostly just black smudge, but there are four little scratches in the paint. She'll get an estimate and let me know. At least I didn't get yelled at, she didn't swear, and I didn't even wet my pants. That's good.
What's not so good is that the repair bill is a mere $500! Ouch!!! That's quite the price tag for being honest, but it's worth it. I don't have to live with the guilt, knowing that I really wouldn't have been the only one who knew. Knowing that my moment of testing had arrived and I'd failed. Nope. That would be worse than a no good, very bad day. That would be a no good, very bad life I think. And I don't want any part of it.
Now I'm even more cautious than ever when parking my van. I choose parking spaces that are a little further away where I have lots of space on all sides. I double-check my cart to make sure there's nothing left behind, and I look 3 or 4 times before scooting over into the neighboring lane. But my integrity is intact.
There's joy in that last statement. I choose to focus on that from now on.
InJoy,
Cristi
posted by Cristi at
10:58 PM
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