Friday afternoon, the phone rings, I answer it.
"Squawk.... sputter.... Get down here right now! Click!"
I look out the back door and can see that Mark is in the garage, the garage door is open. As I make my way down the stairs and walk towards the garage, Mark comes storming out.
"Waaaaa... They fucked up my car. The whole side is fucked up. I hate this place. I hate you for making me move here. I hate these people. This never would have happened in Florida! Waaaaaaaaa....... "
Mark had made a foray to the supermarket on his own. I'm tired of driving everywhere and Mark needs to learn to deal with city traffic. I looked into the garage. Mark's beautiful Ford Fusion looked fine from the side door of the garage.
"It's on the other side. It's all fucked up, they smashed the whole side of the car in... Waaaaaaaaaaa...."
My heart sank. I fully expected to walk around the car and see maybe a fender ripped off or the entire driver's door smashed in. As I made my way to the driver's side I became confused.
"Ummm.. what are you talking about?"
"You don't see it? Really, you don't see it?"
I know I have bad vision, but no, I didn't see it.
"Right there." Mark stabs his finger towards the door of the car. "Right there. Are you blind?"
I looked a little closer.
"That? That's what you're going insane over?"
It was a small, one inch ding caused by some asshole who slammed his or her door into ours. It wasn't nothing. If I had caught the moron doing it, all shithell would have broken loose, but I didn't. What I did like about the whole scenario, what I found comforting, is that what I hoped would happen, happened. Mark was driving when we got the first dent, scratch, or ding in that car. I can't be blamed, other than that part about making him move to Chicago. I did do that.