Bumps and scratches

All of my sedan's scratches and bumps trace their origins in parking lots. 

The first damage was sustained in a hospital parking lot in 2021, when I eased the car into an open space. Having only driven my car for less than a week, my mind was calibrating and learning the critical concept of clearance, that practiced instinct of whether the Honda Civic would fit nicely in a space. The scratch on my car's right underside (after years of driving, I still haven't figured out a car's anatomy) I continue to attribute to my fault entirely, though I could make the argument that it could be due to poor architecture. I went home defeated. There's no feeling like scratching a brand new car and realizing it is damaged goods. My brother Sean, the more deft driver, said, "Kagamay ah! Tinguba lang ang pagpakay-o. Magasgasan pa na liwat." He then laughed, dismissing my complaint as a regular phenomenon of driving.

The second was in a mall. We were parked nicely on the first floor of the parking building. My cousin Hannah and I had fried chicken at Army Navy right after New Year's, in 2023. As we savored for lunch one of the best fastfood chicken in the world—and Chickenjoy is not even close—we returned to the parking lot and saw a commotion. The security guard was bent, looking at my car, while calling someone over the radio. "Imoha ni nga sakyanan, Sir?" he asked. I said yes. He pointed out a scratch in the bumper. I wouldn't even notice it if he hadn't pointed it out. The vehicle that did the damage was a red pick up truck. The CCTV had it recorded. But the driver ran away. At the police station, where we issued our statement, the police officer said, "Ah, hit-and-run." The car was hit; the driver ran away. I had no energy in me to chase after the irresponsible driver. We recovered the plate number from the footage—the erring car has been on several incidents. My car insurance covered the repair. The parts came two months later. 

The third was in another hospital parking lot, just a week ago. I was parked in my usual space. Backing up, a van scratched the bumper. The doctor-colleague who owned the van apologized profusely and said she'd cover the repair. I said, "It happens to the best of us." I meant it. But I also meant myself when I said "us." The car will get repaired today. I will have to leave it in the shop for 3-4 days. 

There is a sense in which scratching and bumping other people's cars in parking lots is better in the passive than in the active tense. This I should call to mind as I drive our family's pick up while I await the completion of repairs.