One chilly, windy October evening, I noticed mysterious white scratches had popped up on the driver’s side door of my 2013 Buick Regal. I brushed it off, thinking to myself, “I probably just drove behind a gravel truck or something.”
I was bewildered a couple days later when there were noticeable black slashes on the passenger side door. It looked like someone had a scribble-scrabble contest on my car with an Allen wrench.
Was this an accident or conspired by some saboteur?
I thought about the idiom “three strikes and you’re out” and wondered if these impressions were part of pattern I was about to lose.
Lo and behold, the next day I found cuts and bruises on my headlight and a mark that looked as if someone had tried to wedge it out. Now I could’ve been delusional, and maybe these marks had been there without my realizing. I could’ve turned the other cheek, but my mind was becoming paranoid.
I thought to myself, “Does anyone hate me … do I have opps?”
While leaving my neighborhood that evening to run an errand, I leered at everyone taking a stroll or walking their dog. The old lady that drives her rollator while dragging her Maltese on a leash looked like a prime suspect. The man jogging in booty shorts at 8:30 p.m. looked sus too.
When I had time to think about what was actually going on, I was furious because who would try to do that to a 2013 Buick? We are in 2024. My mom has a 2021 Santa Fe, my neighbors have a Dodge Hellcat, and both of their cars were unscathed. The other cars around mine weren’t even touched either.
My mind started to race as I was thinking of who it could have been. The advice my dad told me popped into my mind: “Always stay friends with your exes so they don’t key your car.” I audited my enemies, and though I broke up with a girl a few months earlier, we left on good terms.
Maybe my ex from a while back hated my guts. I burned that bridge but now the grass beneath might be catching aflame.
But none of that made sense. My mind kept playing tricks on me.
Soon I was suspicious of the crazy old grump who lived at the end of the block. My dogs always go in his yard to do their business.
Maybe he got a little too heated one day.
Could it have been the spot I always park in? WAS IT CURSED? Could parking spots even play a role in all of this? All these thoughts tormented my mind for hours.
At this point, my mom set out cameras and I staked out till 2 a.m. to try and catch this criminal.
Believe it or not, the one time we were prepared, the culprit didn’t come out. After this failed endeavor, I pondered for a couple of days still thinking about who would do this act of evil.
Whoever it was, I may never know, and all I can do is laugh about it now. It became a “When life gives you lemons …” moment.
But I learned little interactions leave a lasting impact on people, whether it be waving back at a neighbor, or leaving dog poop in a neighbor’s yard, or blasting the latest hit on the radio.
Every interaction may be a chain reaction to someone’s last straw before keying your car.
