Rude

Earlier I had planned on writing a post about the Love Languages quiz the Monday Night Posse did last week. It was a great evening of evaluating how we experience love and hear what everyone's language is. I will probably still do that, but in light of recent events we're going to talk about my least favorite trait: rudeness.

Today I had an early morning meeting downtown. The office the meeting was held at has about 20 visitor parking spots, which are unusually narrow, but not so narrow the 'Ru doesn't fit. I parked in between the lines and left enough room the car to my right could open their door. The space to the left was empty.

Two hours later, I came out in the pouring rain to find a nondescript white car squeezed tight on the line in the spot to the left of mine. So close I couldn't walk in between the cars, more or less get my door open. I grumbled and resigned myself to climbing over my seats so I could drive away. I nearly hit the white car's side mirror backing out since they were angled towards my front to the point our noses almost touched, and was thankful I didn't. Now I wish I had.

I went to work, went about my morning tasks, then left for lunch. As I walked up to my car my heart sank and I felt sick. Little Brother was on the phone and talked me through it. Across the back door to the front panel was a streak of white, green, and a few missing paint chunks. Apparently the white car had so much trouble getting into the parking spot s/he needed to use my car as a guide.

I called Jason and we met up for lunch so he could see the car. We agreed the damage is not so bad we need to call insurance, and, really, not that easy to see unless it catches you off guard. (Jason walked completely around the car trying to find what I was talking about before he realized it was the driver's side doors.)

It's just paint. It's just a car. There aren't any dents and it could have been a lot worse. So why do I feel like punching someone? I've narrowed it down to a simple reason: rudeness.

When Jason got in the car he said, "The car is okay... wait, are you okay? Were you in the car?" and I said, "No, if I'd been in the car I would have gotten the person's name and insurance." That's when I realized the reason I was upset isn't so much the car's damage, but the inconsiderateness of the person who did the damage.

See, I would still be upset had I been in the car when it happened. Heck, I'd still be upset if I'd come out to the car and noticed a note on my car. Why I'm absolutely furious is because I wasn't there - not only wasn't there, but didn't know because I didn't see the driver's side of my car until after I was back at work - and there wasn't a note. The fact that someone did noticeable damage to my car and didn't even say, "I'm sorry" infuriates me. It's just rude.

I hope they went on to have a lovely day. I, on the other hand, am just angry.