No Credibility

Not too long ago I took my car to a certain drive through car wash. I was enjoying all the brightly colored soaps squirting on my windshield and strips of felt swirling around and around, when I heard a brief scraping noise. "That didn't sound good," I thought. But then more soap and swishy things instantly grabbed my attention and I forgot all about the scraping sound until I got back to work. I got out of my car to inspect its cleanliness. I noticed two little chips of paint that had been taken off the roof! Lame!

The ladies at work convinced to go back there with guns blazing and demand they make it right! I'm not a big one for confrontation. It's the worst. So the whole way back to the car wash I was trying to talk myself into a real lather, you know, getting all pumped up for the big fight. I got there and quietly requested to see a manager. This like 21 year old kid named York comes out. How do you get mad at a 21 year old kid named York? I found myself being extra discreet and kind instead. My weakness was exposed.

I showed him the two paint chips. And this is where the whole operation started falling apart. He goes up the paint chips and runs his finger over them. Then he scrapes one of them off with his fingernail. It was a smudge of something white. Ouch! Major blow to the credibility! Strike one.

He goes on to explain all the reasons why their machinery couldn't possibly have caused the other real paint chip. "It's possible, though, that the car had been hit by a rock or something and chipped the paint and then the cleaning process took it off. You know, things happen to cars all the time. Maybe it's been there for a while and you just never noticed it before." He starts walking around my car looking for other chips and flaws with which he can prove his point. He goes to the front of my car where there's a big crack in the bumper. My best friend's sister-in-law had backed into it on my friend's wedding day. I hadn't gotten it fixed yet. He kind of points to it and looks at me and raises his eyebrows. Strike two.

He continues around the car. My case is looking really bad. He's walking towards my car's fuel door. It's ajar! I must not have closed it all the way when I gassed up! Maybe he won't notice... As he walks past it he looks at me again, and very deliberately shuts the door. My heart sinks within me. Strike three.

Any credibility I had left was destroyed. I accepted the outcome. I said thank you to York and got in my car to drive back to work. My pitiful attempt at speaking my mind and getting what I wanted was a major bust. In fact it left my ego a humbled, crumpled mess. How do I even live with myself? But I had to chuckle. I guess I just wasn't made for battle. So the chip stays. As a simile of my soul.