Left rear quarter panel of the truck: My wife, who is lovely, smart, sexy, and my best friend is also one of the world’s worst drivers. She had never driven a truck before and tried to cut the entrance to the driveway too closely. Who knew a metal mailbox could withstand such punishment?
Hood and left front quarter panel of the truck: Hurricane Isabel dropped an oak limb on it.
Parking lot + yellow concrete light pole base + pickup door post = big yellow dent on black fender.
Funny thing about that dent: Until I got it, I took really good care of my pickup; washed it, kept it clean, worked the hell out of it but took care of it. Now, it’s like it’s some beater piece of crap I can’t wait to get rid of. It does have over 130,000 miles on it, but it’s a very good pickup ('96 Ranger) and will probably run another 100,000 miles if I take care of it.
Tailgate of my dads truck:
Dad always told me to aim for the fire hydrant at the end of the driveway, to compensate for the slight curve the end of the driveway has. So I always aimed for the fire hydrant… until I backed into it. No damage to the hydrant, but it screwed up the towing hitch, messed with the bumper, and left a huge dent in the tailgate.
Moms suv:
Crowded parking lot, with people parking in parking spaces, along the curb, and in the “streets” going through the lot. I turn into one of those “streets” to see a huge truck coming through already, and there was no possible way the two of us could pass eachother. So I try to turn into a lane… and drive OVER the front bumper/lights of the car next to me who was illegally parked. Messed up the side panel of Mom’s suv, huge red paint streaks on the wheels, and that side of the bumper is higher than the other.
No mishaps since I have bought my own car, mainly because I had experience when I purchased it and it’s a little smaller than their cars.
Backing out of the driveway at Casa Feliz after playing at a wedding. They have these removable, yellow rubber barriers to keep people from the adjacent golf course from parking in the Casa Feliz parking lot. We moved them when we loaded in but…no…we don’t need to move them to get out. I can get around them.
Then there was the sound of rubber scraping on metal and now I have a nice little patch of my driver’s side panel door that’s scuffed from the rubber.
I was sitting at a traffic light. The guy next to me started making hand gestures. I thought: What the heck are you on about? Turns out the trailer hitched to the truck in front of me had come undone. I was not able to back up enough and it smashed my front bumper. Not enough to make too big a difference, and the car is old anyway and I just didn’t feel like making the effort it would take to have it fixed.
I don’t have a big dent or scratch anymore ::knock wood::, but the ones I did have were from being rear-ended at a red light.
Not to be a prick, but some of these stories? They’re making me think to myself, “Some people should not drive.” 
Lessee…
Passenger-side mirror: motorcycle sideswiped it while trying to squeeze between the car and the curb, then vanished without so much as a by-your-leave. I dunno how much it’s gonna cost to fix; I’m trying not to think about it.
Dent/scrape in passengers rear door: my wife was driving and either didn’t notice the car coming or misjudged the speed and distance; whatever the cause, the lady WAS speeding and plowed into her. Spun the car around and tripped the engine cutoff (which my wife didn’t know about, she was panicked that the crash had screwed up the fuel line or something). Cops called it a 50/50, we decided not to get it fixed because we couldn’t afford the deductible at the time. Last I heard the other lady was in some hot water because she turned out not to have insurance.
I’m fortunate in that I can still claim I have never damaged another car or my own car through my own actions. Of course, now that I’ve said that, I’m probably going to cause an impromptu demolition derby on the highway on my way home tonight.
Mr. Bunny opening his passenger side door a little too enthusiastically into a short concrete wall/flowerbed thingie outside Trader Joe’s.
“Honey, I think you hit the door on the wall.”
“Nope, I’m looking at it and it’s fine!”
We get home.
“Oh. I guess I did kinda open it into the wall.”
It’s not so bad though. I’m more annoyed about the various tiny scratches we have that are so very obviously from other assholes opening their car doors into ours. I swear there’s a new one every time we go shopping.
It was close. It was obvious it was supposed to be the same color just as it was obvious it was not the same color.
It seems like they’ve faded to a closer match over time… but I can’t remember the last time I really looked at it when my car was clean.
My wife went to visit her sister at an apartment whose gate wasn’t functioning quite right. It opened just about enough to get the car through, so my sister-in-law got out and guided my wife through. Apparently she did a good job guiding and my wife kept a really steady hand because we have matching, albeit faint, stratches down the entire length of the van on both sides.
Enjoy,
Steven
Moose ran into me. No, really. He ran into me. I stopped for the herd of stupid deer standing in the middle of the road, and a stupider moose whammed into the drivers side top corner of my back bumper – of my brand new car!
Stupid moose.
Then, 2 hours later, I backed into the mailbox post (the mailbox post that has been in that exact same place every day for the previous 10 years), which slightly enlarged the scuff that the stupid moose made.
I had a friend with a bodyshop buff it out for me.
3 days later, a Toyota ran into me at a stop sign. Scratched up the buffed-out Moose/mailbox ding. Bodyshop guy charged me a 6 pack for the tablespoon of clear-coat to fix it.
2 months later, I backed into a backhoe at the Habit. Removed a tiny bit of the clearcoat & a smidgeon of paint, on that same damn spot.
14 months later, there is one backhoe incurred scuff on my drivers side rear bumper. I give up. If fate has decreed that I must have an imperfect drivers side rear bumper, who am I to argue? :rolleyes:
No realli! She was Karving her initials on the møøse with the sharpened end of an interspace tøøthbrush given her by Svenge - her brother-in-law - an Oslo dentist and star of many Norwegian møvies: “The Høt Hands of an Oslo Dentist”, “Fillings of Passion”, “The Huge Mølars of Horst Nordfink”.
Hahaha. Next April, you drive the short way from Butte to Twin Bridges at dusk, and then try to tell me there are no stupid moose in Montana.
Backhoes, mailboxes and Toyotas are everywhere, but, unfortunately for us all, The Habit isn’t found outside of California. 
The right side:
This past winter was pretty nasty in Austin, what with the February ice storm and all. The first two-three days, the office grudgingly allowed us to work from home. It was nice – jammies and slippers and no damn phone calls. We knew it was going to be hell whenever we came back, but the storm had made national news and most of our customers knew the score.
And then the Big Boss pronounced that we were coming into work for the last two days of the week come hell or high water. Yeah, despite the ice covering every single road all thick and glistening. I said to my boss: “Boss, I’m not driving all the way in to work in my liability-insured car. Can I catch a ride?” She agreed.
It was still terrifying, but we managed to get in without any permanent injuries. I decided to take the trip myself in my own car next morning.
If I didn’t have to cross a bridge over quite a wide river, this would have gone well. But Austin had quite run out of sand at this point, and when I hit that patch of ice my car did what cars do on ice. And since it’s a light, cheap car and I have no snow tires (in Texas?!) and no chains and very little ice driving experience, I slammed into the side of the bridge.
The good news? I was steering into the skid, which means I managed to slow down a fair bit before I hit the side. Additionally, my tire was turned so my front right fender was only scratched a bit as I finally came to a stop.
The bad part, of course, was how hard my tire hit the side of the bridge. Broke the… steering knuckle, I think it’s called? But I was damned lucky.
The left side:
One fine morning, I went to Einstein Bros to grab a bagel and coffee for my breakfast on the way to work. I was just coming out when a woman in a land yacht slid her car in next to mine. And by slid, I mean that there was barely an inch between her passenger side and my driver’s side, AND she was slightly angled so even if I wanted to crawl in on the other side of my car I’d have nowhere to go.
I started waving my arms at her as she parked and begged her to back out just briefly so I could get out. She’d even have more room that way!
Ahh, don’t I wish my car was made out of good Detroit steel, too. Hers sure was. It took her twenty minutes by the clock – and another two people to help direct her out – and she scraped up my left front bumper on her way. I didn’t make her pay for it. The car was old and crusty; what did a few more scratches matter?