I’ve hesitated to post this, because… I am the other driver. I am the vessel of the divine that offers Cas and the community opportunities to practice compassion while on the road, or more particularly, in parking lots. I take no pride in the role; it is my fate to be the humble instrument of instruction.
As my husband, Marc, said plaintively to his brother once while I was on the phone for yet another insurance ordeal (difficult for the rep perhaps, my repeated practice with the “recorded to serve you better” phone calls has put me quite at my ease), “She’s actually a good driver, she’s never hurt anyone.” Trash cans, ash cans, light poles, guard posts, plants and planters, and poorly placed public artworks would all tell a different tale were they animate.
It is stationary vehicles that are the most distressed. For years, I maintained there was a magnetic attraction between the metals used in older cars’ bumpers, perhaps caused by the energy field created by turning on the ignition, but the fact that I’ve … made contact… with as many of the newer rubber bumpers as the older steel ones suggests the ignition may be involved, but only peripherally. The newer rubber baby buggy bumpers are no help in improving my fellow drivers’ acceptance of the inevitable. Their ‘paintability’ is touted as a improvement, but the merest kiss causes deep scuffs and scars and pigment apparently costs three times as much as chrome, so fat furry false savings on that, Mr. Estimator.
The latest evidence of the insufficiency of rubber bumpers was after a recent play date with the terriers of a friend who lives in the foothills. I wasn’t there to help a puppy of my own learn doggy manners; I have no pets. I was visiting primarily to play with the dogs myself. Drunk on puppy-loving, wishing my allergies would permit me to live with a dog rather than just occasionally dating them, I backed my Subaru out of their owner’s steep and winding driveway. I heard a scrape and felt a tug. When I got out to check the rear, I found I had backed over a low retaining wall that bordered the driveway. I saw nothing in the bright sunshine: no damage to the rubber, no black marks on my friend’s expensive brickwork, no need to go inside and say anything at all. All the way down the rolling hill to the four lane street that would take me home, I wondered what was that tugging feeling? I pulled into a shopping center to find the wraparound bumper that had looked just fine at first had actually popped off the entire left side of the Outback, and must have been swaying back and forth as I drove. I drove home slowly, on side streets. The next day, a sympathetic male teacher at the elementary school where I worked managed to wedge the bumper back into place, with the panel hugging the body close enough so that its recent adventure wasn’t terribly obvious. He also pounded out a dent in the rubber that I still hadn’t seen. This kindness meant I was able to leave the whole incident unmentioned at home. I support honesty and truth in a relationship, but when stories like this are such oft-told tales, perhaps every telling isn’t essential.
It is my great hope that latest Subaru bumper story will be a book-end to earlier ones about my recently sold Honda Pilot, and there will be no more. I'd gotten to know the Pilot's power and size after introducing it repeatedly to our large green trash bin, and once to a friend’s front-mounted tow-hitch. Another friend Jen, had joined us for dinner and a DVD one night. While she was chatting with Marc in the living room, I was messing about in the kitchen. I realized I had forgotten the salsa for our tacos. I hollered from the kitchen door that opens into the garage, "Be back in sec!", jumped in the Pilot, backed it out of the garage and into Jen's new (of course) Toyota Corolla. I take the $600.00 for her new bumper out of savings, and am grateful that we carpool to the same school anyway. About 4 months later, Jen is again over for dinner, and this time, having forgotten butter for the brownies, I grab the keys, jump in the Pilot, back out of the garage and into Jen's car again. Another $600.00, even with DentBuster's good customer discount. This time I have to put the expense on our charge card, and there is a slight chill in the carpool over the next few days. A few months later, dinner is complete, we've had a lovely evening, and we're walking Jen out to her car.
"Jen, why is your car parked sideways in our driveway?"
"Oh, I got sideswiped at the grocery store by a hit'n'run, and figured since Lynn would be hitting me again anyway.. "
Well! But, the sad truth is, about nine months after that, I did indeed back into her car in our driveway a third time. Jen burst into tears, seeing that this time I had managed to crunch her front bumper, and somehow the hood was buckled as well… and the front left side panel looked a little droopy. At 1600.00, this one had to be handled by our insurance company which also provided a rental car for a stony-faced and silent Jen. Now when she visits, Jen leaves her car across the street in St Jude's church parking lot. Most of our repeat guests do so, each being offered multiple opportunities to practice compassion.
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