We were at the bank (which is located next door to the Aston Police Station) so my partner, Dan, could deposit his paycheck. He'd gone inside to take care of his business while I waited in the ambulance. Out of the bank came a younger looking fellow who got into the Jeep Cherokee parked next to me. It was one of the ones that has gold trim, lettering and such that I always find just a little bit pretentious. As he was backing out of the parking spot I caught view of the front end of his vehicle: it was dented, there was just one "flood light" remaining and I couldn't help but mutter, "Oh yes, very gangsta," under my breath. (No, my pseudo racism was not the study in depravity... this time.) Suddenly, the back tires of his vehicle jumped the curb behind him and he slammed on the brakes. The "Oh, nuts" look on his face was priceless, yet also somewhat confusing. It seemed to show something more than, "I hit a curb." He pulled forward, back into the parking spot and I saw why - he'd backed up onto the curb and into the sign for the drivethrough teller:
Oops.
Now, mind you, this wasn't a love tap. The sign is planted (and wired) into the ground and was thoroughly knocked askew. At any rate, the young man got out and went around the back to inspect his bumper. It must not have been the worse for wear, because he quickly turned his attention to the sign he'd hit. He walked over and tried pushing it back into place, but to no avail.
It was around this time that Dan came walking out of the bank and got back into the ambulance. "What's that all about?" he asked. So I gave him the lowdown and told him that now I was just waiting to see what the kid was going to do - go into the bank and tell them, or get back into his car and drive away. I could tell he was wrestling with the decision in his head already, but then he looked up and saw that I'd been sitting there the whole time and his dilemna really set in. He walked back over and sat down in his Jeep while I waited with baited breath & a notepad in hand to take down his license plate if he tried to drive away. And so we both waited.
About five minutes passed and there was no movement. The cynic in me assumes he was waiting for us to leave, but I suppose he was maybe on the phone consulting his parents and/or insurance provider. The impass continued, however, and so finally Dan said, "This is boring. Why don't we just call the police station and tell them about it?" This option seemed much less exciting, but as I was due to be done work for the day in a little under half an hour, I agreed that this was the most viable option.
We called over to the station and an officer came across the driveway to help the young man "make the right choice". And so, instead of just an insurance claim he also got a citation.
A lesson in Calvinism? Maybe that's a bit of a stretch. But the whole episode really did cause me to ponder how self serving we all are, when you get down to the nitty gritty. There but for the grace of God go I.
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