CRASH INTO ME

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I am glad my daughter was not with me on this particular trip to the grocery store, because she may have picked up some unfortunate choice words.

You see, I exited the store recently to see the trunk of my car open and the back right side of my car smashed in. It didn’t exactly put me in a “Golly Gee Whillakers!” mood.

So perhaps I said a word or 12 that was not appropriate, but I’m sure many of you can relate. And not just to swearing in parking lots. I mean seeing your car smashed in without so much as a note that says, “You’ll never find me, sucker.”

I did the sensible thing, which was to stand with my hands on my hips looking around, as if I were going to see some car barely being able to escape the scene after having a 2 mph collision with a Honda, or maybe a scene where another shopper had seen the culprit and had him pinned down with a bag of dog food or something.

Alas, nothing. After a few moment of standing there, a kind, older couple pulled up and said, “Are you OK?” It was at that point that I realized a very unfair stereotype in America. When a woman stands in a parking lot looking helpless, she is offered assistance. When a man stands in a parking lot looking helpless, people assume he has wandered away from his particular court-ordered home.

I nodded to the couple and decided to head inside to call the police. I figured I would document it in case, I don’t know, it turned out Bin Laden had backed into my car and this was the missing piece that the government needed. Hey, you gotta always be on the lookout.

When the officer arrived, he squatted down and looked at my car for roughly one billionth of a second and said, “This didn’t happen here.” I’m not sure, but I kinda got the impression he thought I was trying to pull a fast one.

“Well, I came out here and my trunk was up. I’m guessing I would have seen my trunk up before now,” I responded.

“Well, how come all of that dirt’s on top of the dent?”

He had a very good point there. Actually, he had two points, the other one being that I really should wash my car more often. I asked him why my trunk would have suddenly decided to pop open. He wasn’t sure about that one, but he did say, “It definitely didn’t happen here. I mean, look how much dirt and grime is on top of the dent.” OK! I get it! My car’s dirty.

The officer asked me if anyone else drove the car. I can only guess that quite a few young drivers in this country have had their driving misdeeds uncovered in this manner. However, it was unlikely that my daughter had been driving my car, seeing as how she’s not even two and has trouble staying on a rocking horse.

The officer examined the spot a little more and said, “I tell you, it looks like a forklift hit your car.” That, my friend, is some pretty definitive investigating there. He based this on the fact that it smacked a panel about five inches high, threading between the brake light and the bumper, only damaging the panel.

“Uh, I’m not around forklifts very often. Or, more accurately, ever,” I said.

“Well, it’s a forklift, I’m sure of it.” So there. My neighbor took a look at it and told me that he thinks it was a trailer hitch, which seems slightly more plausible. My neighbor also offered to back his trailer hitch into the other side, to make my car appear more balanced. I thought that was right neighborly of him.

Before we parted ways, the officer was kind enough to help me get my trunk shut. Since the trailer hitch/forklift/Bin Laden rickshaw had opted to crash in the side with my trunk lock, I had that fun problem thrown into the mix. But now, thanks to the officer, I can open AND close my trunk, usually only skinning four or five knuckles.

At some point I’m going to have to go get it fixed. For one thing, I’d kinda like to have my trunk a little more easily accessible. Of course, if I wait just a little while longer, you may not be able to tell there ever was an accident, what with all of the dirt.