I just got back from one of those first-thing-in-the-morning meetings. It lasted forever. And then we were done, and we all left. And I got in my car which was parked in the driveway in front of the house.
And backed slowly out of the driveway.
And heard a crunch.
And looked back.
And saw that I’d just backed into a fucking golf cart.
Luckily it was parked and no one was in it. But the maintenance crew that was cleaning up leaves at the office next door had all stopped to point and laugh.
What did I do next?
I drove the fuck away. Goddamn right.
I didn’t even stop to see if I’d damaged the golf cart. ‘Cause I was going really slowly, see, and at first I thought I’d just backed into the curb, which I often do when I’m backing out of that driveway because the street is really narrow and surely I didn’t damage the golf cart and OH MY GOD THERE’S A GOLF CART I WONDER IF THEY’RE CHASING ME DOWN so then I did some evasive driving in the parking lots around campus acting like I was looking for a parking place, which I kind of was, and meanwhile I’m thinking why in the fuck did I have to buy a goddamn BLUE CAR that doesn’t look like ANYONE ELSE’s and THERE’S THE GOLF CART AGAIN HOLY SHIT oh wait that’s a different golf cart BUT MAYBE THEY’RE ON WALKIE-TALKIES and it’s a GOLF CART SMACKDOWN BRIGADE and they’re coming to get me for the golf cart hit-and-run so I get back to the main street and look down it and I see the victimized golf cart still sitting there and from three blocks away it looks totally fine to me so I go to another side street and parallel park.
I parked perfectly, I might add. If there’s one driving maneuver I kick ass at, it’s parallel parking.
So I got out. And I walked around to the back of the car to check things out.
At first all I see is a film of dust from all the driving I do. But then-
Left side of the bumper. A definite dent. Complete with black and white paint transfer from the victim.
It’s not a huge dent, but it is a dent.
I walk from my car to my office and on the way I see THREE GOLF CARTS and now I know I’m going to be seeing fucking golf carts in my sleep and they’re all going to be coming after me, just like those three golf carts I saw. They’re looking for me. I’d better wash the car on my lunch break. I’d better scrape away the evidence. I’d better never tell anyone. I might get in big trouble for this.
But I’m a terrible criminal. So I walk into my office and announce: “I just totally backed into a golf cart.”
Everyone is assuring me that my car has more damage than the golf cart, that it’s probably not even noticeable, and that I could only really hurt the golf cart if I ran it straight the fuck over.
But I’m a direct descendant of a woman who believes quite firmly in parking lot cops and mattress tag cops, and I’m living in fear of the Golf Cart Smackdown Brigade.