The Crease in the Car

 

The Crease in the Car

12/15/22

There is a crease in both passenger side doors of my car. Not a bad crease - the doors are both fully functional - but enough to require an expensive trip to the body shop and a claim on my auto insurance. It looks suspiciously like I was sideswiped in a parking lot: some incompetent mom in a Ford Excursion swung wide into a parking space while talking on her cell phone and missed by “just a little”. I might not have even noticed it at first. I approach the car from the driver’s side and walk away with my back turned. The next time I would even have seen the passenger side of the vehicle would have been the next morning approaching it as I came out of the house. The lady at the insurance agency asked me if the car was moving or stationary when the accident occurred. How convenient to say, “Parked in the lot at Redners while I was in the store,” clearly stationary, and me not the active agent in the mishap. What an easy story to tell: plausible, even likely; very believable; no witnesses present except for the active agent; absolves me of responsibility; and likely avoids an increase in my insurance rates. Plus, it has the added benefit that every time I tell it I can feel the rush of the dopamine shot of righteous anger and indignation at “these people”, whoever they may be in this case.

If I tell that story often enough I could easily come to believe it while the true story fades from my memory. Because that story is a lie. The truth is I “kissed” a guard rail while making the turn from Douglass Drive onto West Pine Forge Road, admittedly a slightly tricky turn but one that I typically make multiple times a day without mishap. It’s very embarrassing to have to admit it and, of course, it raises questions in my own mind about losing my ability to drive safely and effectively, an aspect of aging which I am not ready to face at this time. I went back and looked and found that someone else’s more serious conflict with the guard rail had caused it to buckle and protrude out into the traffic lane. That greatly eased my concerns about my competence, though a professional driver of my acquaintance opined that it wasn’t sticking out “that far” and I should have managed to avoid it. Point taken. I was driving. I should have spotted the hazard. I was the active agent. But I don’t feel so bad, knowing that the routine maneuver was not just business as usual this time. I’ve taken the turn just a hair wider every time since and managed to avoid compounding the damage.

But that’s not what I came to talk about. The topic today is truth and honesty. When the insurance agent asked the question, when a friend asked, “What happened to your car?”, it would have been so easy to tell the parking lot story. I could have avoided the embarrassment; I could have avoided the insurance rate increase; I could have avoided the self-doubt; I could have reveled in the dopamine shot. It would have been so easy; no one would or could dispute it. It would have made life so much more comfortable. But it would have been a lie. A lie which would never have been found out, but which would have festered in my heart forever. Today, I follow Jordan Peterson’s lead: I endeavor to always say only things which I know to be true and failing that, I resolve to at least never say anything I know to be false. That’s a very high bar, especially when circumstances pose no consequences. To the extent that I can meet this standard I can avoid the poison to the soul that every lie represents.

I said it to the insurance agent and I say it to you, “I would like to say that the car was sideswiped in a parking lot but the truth is: I hit a guard rail.”