A member of my family drove into a brick wall and damaged it. They didn't mention it because they didn't believe it was a big deal. You'd think hitting a brick wall with a car would be a big deal, but apparently it was more like hitting a raccoon on the highway: it makes a lot of noise, but it's a lot worse for the raccoon than it is for your car.
Make no mistake, they knew the wall had been hit. The car lurched but kept going. The working theory was that the brick wall would be fine, and the damage to the car would be figured out later. To their credit, they didn't panic and make matters worse by driving into traffic, causing a fatality or totaling the car.
It was a decorative wall separating a parking lot from the sidewalk, more like a cement berm. If it was a brick wall attached to a house or a tavern, that'd be another story. The law may have been involved. This wasn't that big of a deal.
I realize I'm kind of saying: "I stepped on your foot and broke a toe, but at least I didn't chop your leg off." But when you step on someone's toe, they act like the world has ended. That shock of pain changes how they think about things. That person kind of hates you in that moment, and they act as if you chopped off your leg.
It turns out, when you drive into a decorative brick wall, the guy who owns the brick wall acts like you almost chopped off his leg.
When notified about the wall, the owner was annoyed and angry. There seemed to be no reason in the world to drive into a decorative brick wall. It's not like a raccoon that runs into the road. That would be an accident. You have to steer the car into the wall. It's not like the brick wall jumped in front of the car.
True enough.
He was also annoyed because he wasn't immediately notified. The member of my family kept driving. Once in the flow of traffic, and with a heart beating wildly from having driven into a brick wall, it seemed reasonable to just keep going.
The owner of the wall saw this as evidence of greater dereliction. Malevolence, even. He didn't believe anyone could drive into a wall but not realize what happened. He wanted justice.
One wintry day during a blizzard a couple of years ago, I watched a car spin out of control going around our cul-de-sac and take out our mailbox. The ass of the car slid across our tree lawn, the mailbox shattered into shards of plastics and slivers of wood. The driver gunned the engine and maneuvered back onto the road.
I ran outside to inspect the damage. Much like hitting a raccoon on the highway, my mailbox was dead. The car was up the street, in a neighbor's driveway, so off I went.
The driver was a teenager in my son's class. I mentioned my mailbox, but he had no idea it happened. He'd been so agitated by losing control of the car, he didn't notice hitting anything. He was clueless — more so than teenagers are normally clueless — and I believed him. I calmed down and told him to get home safely.
Back to our problem with the wall, I called the landowner to discuss the damage. He was calmer, and eager to discuss how important it was to hire a professional to repair the wall. The wall retains water, and is a visual block between his property and the sidewalk… Yadda, yadda, yadda, as they say.
I agreed and he commissioned the work. Surprisingly, it cost $900. (I had braced myself for two grand.) It's the sort of event that, once the mess has been cleaned up, we chalk up to a story we can tell in the future.
And here we are.
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