2000-02-03
I'm unusual with regards to coffee in the morning, I think, because I can
take it or leave it. If B is in a coffee-drinking phase, he'll make a pot of
his very strong stuff--espresso beans in a drip machine--and I'll take my
stainless steel mug and fill it about three-quarters full. I like having it
with me on the way to work, sipping as I drive and throughout the morning.
It's so strong, and without milk or sugar it generally lasts all day and I end up
pouring
out the leftovers before I leave work. If he's in an off-coffee
phase, I don't miss it all that much. Maybe I'll make a cup of cinnamon tea
at work, maybe not.
This morning for some reason he hadn't made any by the time I was ready
to leave the house and I really wanted some. I felt too lazy to make a pot
myself, and had the idea of driving to the cafe-market five minutes from our
house and picking up a cup to go. It's out of the way to work, and I haven't
done this since starting this job, but I figured it would be kind of fun to
stop in there after all this time.
So I parked and went in and got my $1.35 cup of joe and returned to my
car. And I was backing out, in the cramped little gravel parking lot, I
heard a noise. And looked back. I was very close to a parked marroon car I'd
managed not to notice. I pulled back into my spot and headed over to
investigate. Then this fucking bitch got out of her SUV and in this bizarre
tone -- snotty and gleeful at once -- said "Yep! You
got it!" I looked at the other car, some big late-model American thing, and
noticed a little red plastic light cover on its rear right fender was
broken. I seem to have gotten it with the very corner of my car, and that
seems to be the extent of the damage. The car was dirty--they all are,
because of the snow--and it was hard to tell, but I might have scratched a
tiny bit of paint as well.
Minimal but of course I felt awful. I got one of my cards from my wallet,
scribbled an explanation, placed it under the windshield wiper. Drove to
work, braced to walk into my office and see the flashing red light on my
phone indicating a message; none. And nothing all day.
Maybe they won't call, probably they will. I'm hoping it can be fixed
easily and quickly and cheaply and I'll just reimburse them directly, no
need to involve the insurance company. So it'll turn out to be a $50 cup of
coffee or a $100 cup of coffee. At best.
Of course, the card might have blown away. But I doubt it.
I could've gone into the store, I guess, and -- what? -- asked them to
announce over the PA, if they even have one, for the owner of the blah blah
blah to please come to the front. Or more likely, for one of the workers to
wander around calling out the information as they call out your name when
your food is ready and they're looking for you at your table. That just
seemed like more than I was prepared to deal with.
When I got to work I was aware of having this secret. I considered not
telling B because -- well, I didn't want a lecture. I'm not a very careful
driver. I know this. I've mentioned this. At a work-related dinner not too
long ago the pontificating big boss declared "Everyone thinks they're good
drivers" and I said, "Not me." I'm not proud of this or happy about it. I
try to be more careful, really, but it doesn't seem like something I have
conscious control over.
I did call B and he was good about it. It is, after all, my car. It felt
too weird not to tell him, and I wanted to tell someone. And it is, really,
pretty small in the scheme of things. Minor property damage, and I'm
prepared to deal with the consequences. Monetary consequences, which I have
the wherewithal to handle. But it's a creepy, out of control feeling. I feel
like a fuckup.
My car has just a scratch on the bumper. It is a new (to me) car, bought
in August because of this job: the commute and the increased salary.
Traveling daily on a highway full of insane drivers in heavy vehicles, I
wanted something bigger and safer than my old Civic hatchback. Making more
money, I decided to go for something more luxurious as well. It's a Volvo
station wagon, far from paid for. I've already had some regrets about buying
it, feeling like it tethers me to this job, or a job of this nature. That it
keeps me firmly on the earn-and-spend treadmill when on I regularly dream
about stepping off.
Speaking of the pontificating big boss, he was in my dream this morning.
The details elude me, but the overall mood was creepy. Kinda like this day
so far.
But I won't be undone! I've been thinking lately about my own negativity
and the way I let it drag me down. I've gotten into a bit of a
complaining-commiserating situation with another woman at work, hired when I
was and doing essentially the same job. I realized the other night that I
must nip it in the bud. At my old job I was mired in something very similar
with a coworker and know the damage it does. Yesterday I told this woman at
work of my resolve and she approved (if anything, I was the instigator).
Last night I wrote in my diary: accept the situation or
change it, those are the options. Complaining, bemoaning, even
excessive wondering why are not in my interest. I must be ruthless!
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