Racing Philosophies At Work In Everyday Life...
Last night we had dinner at Senor Salsa in Skiatook, and it was an excellent dinner, as it almost always is. The queso was heavenly, the chicken enchiladas were superb, and we had a lovely time. As we were getting up to leave, a friendly blonde-haired lady hurried in and came right to our table -- she asked if we had a white Lincoln.
Gah, that's never a good sign, 'cause they never say "I'm in love with your car and I want it right now! I have 150% of book value in cash and I'll give you a ride home!" I thought of about a million different things, like the burning Blazer from highschool, the black Taurus I saw come outta gear and roll across the aisle into the side of another car at "The Dirty Wal-Mart," and the grey Neon that rolled across the parking lot of Michael's and narrowly missed a pedestrian before bouncing to a stop between two other parked cars. I thought of other frightening situations I haven't ever seen first-hand; like a meteorite on the roof or a garbage truck parked halfway up on the hood or a wanna-be "gangsta" hangin' half in and half out of the car and bleeding to death from a cut to the jugular while attempting to break a window out.
Apparently the friendly blonde-haired lady and her companion, along with another couple who were also leaving the restaurant saw someone in a "red SUV" back into my car, stop, get out to look, spit on their hand and rub it, and then get back in their red SUV and drive away. They spit on their hand and rubbed it and then drove away without leaving a note or anything.
Are there any Adam Sandler fans reading this?? "Spit on your hand and stroke my car at a medium pace..."
I know, I know, shit happens, anybody might be having a bad day or driving something unfamiliar or had a fussy baby in the back seat or whatever, but come on! At least leave a note! Acknowledge! Apologize! Just say something!!
It may not be a huge scrape; hey, at least they didn't tear the whole bumper off, but still, they could've left a note or waited two minutes for us to come outside.
I've no doubt there would be a lot less anger involved if they'd just been honest about it instead of spitting, rubbing, and thinking they got away with something.
Is there no Character anymore?
I'm thinkin' that'll be the first letter they get from me -- just a picture of the scrape, with the post-it from the lady who got their tag number, and "Character means doing the right thing, even when nobody's watching."
When it comes right down to it, there's always somebody watching.