A short while back, our newish and very red car, while parked and unattended (generally the case), was engaged in a parking lot game of bumper cars. As these things go, our car sustained damage on the driver’s side. In most circumstances, the driver responsible and their vehicle are long gone when the discovery is made. However, a kind person observed the incident and waited around to let my better half know what happened. And was also able to show her the car which had done the damage, reparked (hopefully successfully this time) a couple of vehicles away. The driver was sitting in the car… and so this little misadventure began.
A quick phone snap of the car’s license plate and a tentative tap on the driver’s window revealed a somewhat elderly man smoking peacefully. He acknowledged that he was the one who had damaged our car and was happy to provide his name and telephone number and make amends for the damage. And, quickly taking a bit of shine to the woman asking questions of him, mentioned that I was a lucky man. He was not wrong, but under the circumstances, the comment was a tad unexpected and amusing. An early good sign.
My follow-up phone call later that day was answered by the same gentleman. Also a good sign. He indicated again that I was a lucky man (referring, of course, to my wife), and that he had been driving his girlfriend to an eye clinic appointment. He went on to provide surprising details of his life’s history in business, presented as the basis for concluding that we were judged as honest people. Another good sign. To keep the potential transaction alive and pointed in the right direction, I ignored his clear support for the current White House occupant. Some things are best left for those who really want to have that conversation. Based on a telephone handshake, the plan was to get a repair estimate and let him know the amount.
The sobering estimate process demonstrated that even a little sheet metal (and plastic) damage can run quite a few thousand dollars in today’s world. But maybe not important, as we had someone else paying for it. Maybe. That was the plan. Leaving the insurance companies out of this one. Likely not overlooked by our new friend.
The bad news phone call went surprisingly well, as he took down the amount (without flinching), my name, address, and telephone number (admittedly a little late to get to those details), so that he could pop a cheque into the mail. Still sketchy, but promising. More promising was his comment that it was just money. We left it at that as I prepared myself for the cheque in the mail thing to play out.
A bit later, our new friend phoned back with another plan. Given that the postal service, due to strike actions, was a bit uncertain, he proposed that we meet at Tim Horton’s on the Belleville side of the bridge that connects Prince Edward County with Belleville. Seeing as he had to visit his stockbroker anyway. The new plan was a clear upgrade over the cheque-in-the-mail thing. Having not yet met our friend, it was natural to ask what he would be wearing, so at the appointed time I was wandering Tim Horton’s looking for an older gentleman wearing a Wellington Dukes (hockey) jacket. Maybe it was just me, but I was imagining a splashy team colours jacket with the team’s name displayed prominently. After waiting a bit, I began wandering the tables, asking this and that person if they were he. Then I heard my name and turned to see an older man and a woman sitting in the corner, both wearing black windbreakers with what gradually came into focus as a Wellington Dukes badge over the heart. There sat my new friend and his girlfriend. Score. Pulling up a chair, we had an introductory conversation mostly about their love of hockey and my preference for baseball. And that he also had to pay for repairs to his girlfriend’s car, that broke its headlight when it banged against our car. Hmmm. Eventually, his girlfriend, with my friend’s assistance, produced a clipboard to which was affixed a cheque and a handwritten receipt that I was asked to sign. They even provided a pen. Trading signature for a cheque, I gave them the estimate money damages page pocketed thoughtfully just in case. So far, so good.
After saying our grateful goodbyes, I headed directly to our bank to securely deposit the cheque with a teller (no ATM for this item), feeling tentatively satisfied as to how this risky thing had gone so far. And there it was…. Our chequing account showed the deposit. A bit later, concern crept back onto the table when my friend phoned me again to say that the bank was very busy and that maybe the money to cover the cheque would take a little time. He had expected that I would hold on to the cheque for a couple of days, quite the opposite of our thinking. So off I went to our bank and chatted with the same teller about the possibility of delaying presentation of the cheque. It appears that things that happen at the bank cannot be unwound. So away I went with a lame strategy to keep checking our account balance, trusting that there wouldn’t be a silent near-zeroing out of the balance.
A few days later, nothing untoward had happened to our bank balance, and we started having warm and fuzzy thoughts about the reliable honesty we had just experienced as a function of a parking lot mishap. To be sure, our car is as good as new again, and we no longer park at that location. In chatting with our next-door neighbours over a glass of wine, they recognized this gentleman from the County. They grew up in Prince Edward County, a mainly rural farming community, and it appears that everyone knows everyone. By their recollection, his family ran an asparagus farm. It turns out we had been treated to a little county-bred dignity and respect by an 82-year-old asparagus farmer. Likely an experience we would not wish to repeat, but a good lesson in humanity. It helped that money was indeed not a problem for our friend.
