A few entries ago, vandals and vitriol were the weekly topics regarding an unjustified attack on an otherwise cherry, chili-red Cooper S, where someone had keyed an “X” on both doors above the handles.
About a week after the fact, the apartment-complex management sent flyers around to the buildings, stating reports of vandalism had occurred to vehicles in the residents’ parking lot, and to report any vehicular damage to the insurance company and the police.
I didn’t report the scratches in my car’s finish. With a $500.00 deductible and chance of my insurance rates to increase, the barely visible marks will have to stay until I either sell or junk my beloved automobile.
It just pulls on my heartstrings to see it every time I open the doors. Except for another keyed scratch on the roof, the car is virtually pristine.
Deciding to see what’s up, I visited the management office and mentioned their flyer. Telling them my car had been a victim, I mentioned my thoughts about the perpetrator’s being a resident from the court on the other side of the parking lot from me.
Any maliciousness that occurred to the Cooper had been done on that side of the lot, adjacent to where I park normally, prompting me to think the vandal was doing so spitefully after coming home and finding no parking spaces, which is another issue entirely.
That was the conclusion of the people I talked to at the office. I told them I had my suspicions about who did it, but wouldn’t say whom, in case it wasn’t them who gouged the car.
The management workers asked if it was a male or female, for which I said a man. They thought differently, saying they believed the person is a woman.
Regardless of the jerk’s gender, when I come home and no spaces are available on my side of the lot, I park in the street. No sense inviting more animosity against my automobile.
Recently, I was speaking with my neighbor upstairs, telling her about what had been happening and asked if she had any problems. Luckily for her she didn’t, but said if there were, she would have been heartbroken too.
“My car is my very best friend,” she said. “It’s the only one I can really rely on.”
“Mine too,” I said; but for me it’s more of a love affair.
From the beginning, building the car I wanted on the manufacturer’s Web site, getting updates on how much longer before completion and shipping it to the US from England, I became deeply, emotionally involved with its creation, sort of like spawning a child, waiting impatiently for the bundle of joy to be born and delivered.
That was in 2003. The auto arrived at the dealership just in time for Thanksgiving of that year, for which I certainly was a happy, thankful motorist during the upcoming holidays.
The first scratch incurred on the vehicle resulted at a red light in Barnegat, NJ, when a van tapped my rear bumper in the spring of the following year. It was only a tiny nick, not enough to get the police or insurance companies involved.
I was pissed though, pardon my English. Every time I opened the hatch, the mark stared back at me for at least the next year or so.
All was hunky-dory until May 2013, at which point the Cooper experienced its first fender bender. No one was hurt, fortunately, except for my broken heart. This time the police was involved, as well as the insurance company.
Coincidentally, both myself and the person whose car I hit have the same insurance carrier. My car was repaired at an auto-body repair shop close by and looked brand new again.
So now it’s already 2016 and the Cooper is still going strong after all these years.
“Sometimes you’re the pigeon; other times you’re the statue,” as the old saying goes. That holds true for the Cooper as well on occasion, as seen below:
What was worse, I drove straight to the car wash to find it was closed due to all the rain we’ve been having most everyday for the past two weeks.
It was quite embarrassing, having to drive around town with the car’s looking like that. A heavy rain that night washed it all away, much to my delight.
The vandalism has ceased, thank goodness.
“An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure,” another old saying which is relevant.
Thanks for stopping by and allowing me this moment of sentimentality. Thanks again for your continued support.