Saturday was moving day. I rented a big-ass truck from U-Haul, and a bunch of friends and I proceeded to move first my roommates to their new apartment, then me to my new apartment. On the last load, I backed up too far out of the driveway and hit a truck that was parked across the street. It was my own damned fault. I had turned enough that I couldn’t see the people who were guiding me in the mirror, and I didn’t hear them yell “Stop!” until the second time.
I didn’t even know I’d hit it. I pulled the truck up, and my friend got in, and we started going.
“Whew. Close one. How close did I get?”
“You hit it.”
“What?! Why are you letting me drive away?”
So I pulled over and went back and left a note with my phone number and took a picture of the truck. Luckily, this was not a brand-new pristine truck. You could clearly tell which dents I had put in it because they were the ones that hadn’t rusted over yet. But I was still annoyed at myself and worried about having to pay for it.
Just got a call from the guy. I apologized for hitting his truck, and asked if he had seen the damage. He said that he had. I told him that I was willing to to pay for repairs, or could give him some money for the trouble (since we both knew it wasn’t really worth doing any body work on the truck).
“No, that’s fine, it’s just a work truck.”
“Oh, ok. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
And then he hung up. So, thanks, guy whose truck I hit, for being really cool about it. I promise that the next time someone does some minor damage to my car, I’ll shrug it off and let them have a good day, too.