How some jackass ruined my morning

You ever have one of those mornings that starts perfectly? Yesterday I was out at breakfast with my first wife (never gets old does it dear), enjoying coffee, omelets, sunshine and the fleeting illusion the universe wasn’t out to screw me. It was peaceful.

Then we walked back to my 2024 Audi Q5 — the first new car I’ve owned in twenty years — and drove home. Once parked in our driveway, I happened to look back at the car and BAM: There it was— a dent. Front left fender, surgically placed right along that beautiful, sharp body line Audi engineers probably spent months perfecting. And just for extra points, a lovely scrape underneath. It's like someone aimed for the most painful spot possible and nailed it.

Clearly what happened was while we were enjoying what I like to refer to as longtime married couple chat over my Louisiana hot link omelet, someone decided to give my car a little kiss right in the paintwork.

What’s that you say? A note? That’s just crazy talk. No note. No apology. No shred of decency. Just a hit, a scrape, and the undeniable confirmation that people suck.

Now, you have to understand, I didn’t buy this car on a whim. I’ve spent the last twenty years nursing along secondhand "it builds character" vehicles.

Alright, they were certified Lexus vehicles, but you get my drift.

Since I bought the car last June, I’ve been in new car mode, treating it like a work of art. I've parked a quarter-mile away from grocery store entrances, dodging rogue shopping carts like they were incoming missiles. I’ve warned passengers not to swing car doors open with reckless abandon. I’ve kept all the windows down when I’ve had a bag of In-N-Out in the car so as not to lose that new car smell.

And despite all my vigilance, some random jackass managed to pull off what months of obsessive caution was trying to avoid: damage.

Of course, since it's an Audi, fixing a little dent and scrape won't be some quick, $50 "pop and paint" job. No, it's going to involve an insurance claim, a deductible that’ll make me question my life choices, and probably two weeks of driving a rental car that smells like wet dog, cigarette smoke and broken dreams.

I’ll feel better when it’s fixed.

The car will be restored.

The lines will be sharp again.

Balance will be restored to the force.

But my opinion of humanity? That’s never getting buffed out.

Bedside manner. Again

So here's how my night went.

I drove from my place of employment in Huntington Beach up to downtown Los Angeles to meet my great friend Sandy, who I've known forever, at the Water Grill for yet another one of our fabulous dinners we have from time to time.

I had every intention of posting a new article tonight when I got home, but after the day and the drive, like last night, bed is calling. And it's not taking no for an answer.

So I went into the archives, and found this sweet piece I'd written exactly five years ago To. The. Day. I know, right?

Since I've been revisiting older posts this week, I might continue the trend for the rest of the week. We'll see how it goes. In the meantime, I've got my jammies on, flipped the pillow to the cold side, set the T.V. on the sleep timer (still one of the greatest inventions since carpeting and air conditioning) and I'm ready to hit the hay.

Have a swell rest of your night, and please to enjoy this post. Again.

.

Every once in a while - a great while - my faith in humanity is momentarily restored. This is one of those times.

A while ago I had seen this letter from an emergency room doctor to a man who's wife he'd treated. Sadly she later passed away, but she'd left such an impression that this doctor felt compelled to write his first letter ever to a family member. What strikes me is the time he took to write this letter, which is clearly carefully and deliberately worded, was probably longer than he gets to spend with most of his patients.

In an age of cost cutting, managed care, debates by monkeys in congress over healthcare and the traditional distance doctors keep from the personal lives of their patients, this letter is nothing short of remarkable.

I never want myself or any member of my family to have need of an ER doctor. But if it's unavoidable, I hope they get someone as compassionate as this.