Kind

 Ah. Spring break is here. No worries, I thought. I'll just stop by the new up-scale little market in town and buy something great. Skinless chicken thighs, what a treat.


I return to my car, but oddly, an employee is following; what does this twenty-something want?  As I'm about to open the car door she says, "Excuse me, but I saw somebody hit your car and I wondered if this was already here..." as she pointed to the large swath of scratches and scrapes covering the right bumper.  I, already bummed by this short conversation, say "AWwwwwwwww...noooo, this is new." She then says that she saw it happen, copied the license number into her cell phone, and noted the model and make of vehicle, and would I like the info? Well, yeah, what stupid jerk would do this kind of thing, so I get the info, and call the local police--twice--because it's not obvious which department needs to hear from me. The helpful employee disappears back to her job, while I very nervously report this crime to the police. I am told to go home and that an officer will contact me later.

By the time I get home I am cheered up by the fact that I will make chicken satay for dinner. Spring break has begun, and John has walked the dogs.  It's not all bad. Aside from the car, nobody is hurt.  I pour a glass of wine and the phone rings, the cell phone, that is, my back-up phone, the one I don't think about, and not the land line phone number I reported to the police.  It's a polite young officer, who immediately says that the person who hit my car "was born in 1935" and "lives in a trailer court off of Conifer Street." He soothingly tells me that most incidents of this sort are due to old folks or teens.

Because I pass this trailer court every single day on my way to work, and because I have an 89-year-old mother, and because I've started in on my glass of wine, and also because I suddenly realize that the young officer is trying to be kind--and kindness defeats me every time--I am nice about it all, and very meek. The officer is relieved that I don't want to press charges, that I would be fine with him just dropping by and interviewing the old gentleman, and that I would be perfectly happy if that man  would just call me and give me his insurance information. Within 10 minutes that call does come, from an apologetic old man with a heavy Dutch accent. I thank him kindly, and hang up. He is only 14 years older than me.

I call the market.  I say that I didn't know who reported the incident with my car, but would they please thank her, because it was very very kind of her and I really appreciated it. In the end I am glad that everyone was just...kind.