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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! � � |