I am lucky enough to have a parking deck under my apartment building- one of the small pleasures that comes from living in a city and not having to scramble over street parking. The one thing that always worries me is my proximity to a huge concrete support pole, but thankfully it has never been a problem because the spot next to me is empty.
It has never been a problem, she says….until today.
After a leisurely afternoon around Seattle, I pull into my parking deck only to find that there is a big SUV Land Rover thing in the spot next to me. It has big signs in the window about riding bikes and how they apparently have a “baby on board”. I have never seen this car since living here and notice that this huge SUV is very close to the white line, but I roll my eyes and proceed into my spot. Except that during that eye roll, my eyes must have adjusted inappropriately and I slightly grazed their back passenger side bumper. Like…the car didn’t even move. In fact, I didn’t even know I hit it until, as I am pulling further into my spot, the passenger side door flies open and this douchey hippy jumps out. He immediately goes to the bumper and runs his fingers along it, shaking his head. His wife jumps out of the drivers seat and motions for me to roll my window down.
She puts her hands on her hips, leans forward and asks me “did you just hit my car?”. I was inclined to remind her that if she has to ask if her car was involved in a significant accident it must not be a big fucking deal, but instead I replied “Yeah, I did, I think I grazed it”. She leans down and runs her fingers her along the bumper and says “oh man, it is all scuffed up. It is really scuffed” I tell her I would be happy to give her my information…all from my car that is half in and half out of the parking space, blocked by the open door. She says she does not want my information, then starts this whole long dramatic speech about how the plastic bumper is over a metal support and something something Land Rover something. She then changes her train of thought away from her overly expensive car and then asked her husband to check on their baby. For real. After the great collision rocked her car to its very steel foundation, she finally remembered that she had a child in the car.
At this point, the backseat passenger door is opened. I am still just sitting half in my space.
I know that I should be timid, I know I was the wrong who did wrong, but for the love of Christ, welcome to living in a city. I have seen worse damage done by a key or during parallel parking. I lean my head out and say “Look, I can give you my information right now, or if you see it in the sunlight tomorrow and it looks awful, you know where I live, but if this is resolved, can you please let me into my spot?” Yeah, I know, I should be all happy that nothing was damaged and that no one got hurt, but I really just wanted to get the fuck back to my apartment. I had this image in my mind of this happening in the street and traffic being blocked up for miles in either direction because these hippies like to blow things out of proportion.
I tried to ask politely, thankfully it was interpreted as polite, the couple and their baby got back in the car and left. I have this feeling that tomorrow there will be a note on my car asking for insurance info. Ugh. Living alone on an island with a tomato plant and internet is sounding better and better.