Ding is on my list of least liked words. It connotes minor damage, a dent or a blemish. To me, it means some inconsiderate dolt parked too close to my vehicle and whacked my door while exiting their own chariot. 100 out of 100 times, they leave without even the courtesy of a note of apology on my windshield. What’s up with that?
A buddy and I were talking last week about why my daughter’s Toyota Camry is in the body shop. I explained how she learned the bitter lesson that immobile objects truly are immobile and can do considerable damage to a vehicle, even while driving in reverse. I backed into a support beam in a poorly lit parking garage a few years ago. I wasn’t going more than two miles per hour, so the impact merely left a small crease in the bumper. It still ticks me off! It’s pride in ownership.
I purchased a 2002 Volvo in May 2010. The body was in remarkable condition with nary a blemish. I’m sure the car was buffed by the dealer prior to putting it on the lot, yet still, I was very impressed with its condition. Friends and admirers congratulated me on the purchase of our “new” ride (it had 112K miles on the odometer). Eleven months later, it has a least a half-dozen dings and one moderate dent – all caused by anonymous turds who felt no responsibility for their actions. The most recent is a pretty good dent high up on the front passenger door. It galls me every time I look at it.
A friend remarked that he finds it a relief when his new ride finally gets its first ding. When it happens, he no longer concerns himself with where he parks. It’s already nicked up, so what’s the point getting all stressed out about where I park and inconveniencing myself in a futile effort to protect it? I understand his thinking, but it upsets me nonetheless. We resign ourselves to the notion that others will essentially vandalize our cars with not a care, a bit of remorse or a tinge of guilt. What does that say about our society?