By Jim Hagarty
2016
A year ago, one Friday night, I was parallel parked along an empty downtown street after the shops and offices were closed, listening to my radio and waiting for a passenger. No cars parked in front of me, three or four empty parking spaces behind me. A twin-engine Cessna could have safely landed behind me without so much as knocking over a trash can.
Suddenly, a man in a white SUV slammed into me from behind. We both jumped out of our vehicles and he came at me like a wild animal, loudly declaring that I was poorly parked and blaming me for the accident. He was abusive in his manner and his language. He pointed out there was no damage to my car; I didn’t have time, or, in the failing light, the ability to assess that for sure. (In the end, the car was fine.) The truth was, in the greying winter evening as the sun dissolved, he simply didn’t see my car when he tried to park.
I was in shock. Nothing even close to this had ever happened to me. In fact, I couldn’t believe it was happening at all. I protested. He jumped in his SUV, gave me the finger, and drove away. I got his licence number and climbed back into my car.
To recap: A guy ran into me from behind, screamed at me, then gave me the finger as he stormed off.
My mind raced. Should I give him chase? I was so mad, I might have killed him, myself and some innocents in the process. Should I go to the police?
I did some calculating. Chase him or report him invited this unavoidable outome: My fate and his fate would be linked for the foreseeable future. A very unpleasant man I did not know till a few moments before. Was I willing to tie my destiny to his for the next while?
Even though I was vibrating with anger and a thirst for revenge, a few of my more placid brain cells overcame the majority of the boiling ones and ruled in favour of letting it go. I waited to move the car till I had settled down enough to drive, then made my way home, already seeing a trace of humour in the situation. By the time I got home, I had a story for my family. I went to bed later, all the anger gone. I was free from my tormentor.
Had I engaged him instead, I might still not be free, one year later. And that engagement might have affected my life in many negative ways.
Life sucks sometimes. The pasture field we endeavour to cross is littered with cowpies. With age, I can now navigate the dangers more efficiently and keep my boots relatively feces free.
I remember that night on the street and how later I was grateful that I was not that awful man’s partner or family. Pursuing him would have landed me face down in his cowpie of a life.
