I’ve owned a few cars in my life, and they all seemed to get hit while they’re parked at one point or another. And there always seems to be a witness to the hitting who reports it to me afterward. Weird, right?
One time I drove to a friend’s house and parked out front on the street. The friend and I went out and when we came back, there a voicemail from his neighbor saying that a teenager living next door had hit my car while backing out of his driveway - then went forward and back about three more times, hitting my car harder each time while laughing. Nice, huh?
I don’t know what was going on there, but this isn’t about that time. This is actually about two more memorable times my parked car was smashed into violently. Yes, it only gets better from here.
The first car hit took place in a movie theater parking lot. I’d met friends and when I came out, I found a folded note under my car windshield. I was single at the time, so when I opened the note, I was thinking maybe it was from a shy girl who saw me at the concession stand, somehow located my car, and had left me her phone number on the note in the hopes that she and I would go out on a date with her. Why not be optimistic about these things?
But that was a very wrong guess because the note was a pre-printed police form that read, “YOUR VEHICLE HAS BEEN INVOLVED IN AN ACCIDENT. REPORT TO THE STATION HOUSE WHEN YOU RECEIVE THIS MESSAGE.” Jeez, cops - you don’t gotta yell at a guy.
As I was reading the note, a guy who had been laying across the hood of his car sat up. I hadn’t noticed him earlier, probably because I was distracted by the cop note. Like a puppet, he sprang to life and with no introduction, immediately began speaking in a self-amused, voice:
“Heh heh man you shoulda seen it,” Car Hood Guy said. “This one car was like comin’ down the aisle here and he wasn’t doin’ anything wrong or nothin’ but then this OTHER car comes outta nowhere and he hits that car HARD!”
“Right,” I said. “And then what happened?” I felt like I was pumping an informant for more information, and that felt cool.
“So then that car rolled back and the driver was like, ‘What the HELL, man?!’ to the guy who hit him… Heh heh heh…”
Car Hood Guy was really enjoying the memory of what had happened not fifteen minutes ago. “Yeah the guy who got hit was really crapping his pants and screamin’ ‘What the hell are you doin’ man?!’ while he was getting pushed into the other cars. Heh heh heh…”
“Gotcha,” I said. “So that car hit me?”
“Not at first man,” Car Hood Guy continued. “So like the guy who hit the guy was laughing and then he goes forward and then he puts it in reverse and SLAMS into the other guy. LlKE ON PURPOSE! And he keeps the gas on so he’s pushing the guy and THAT’S when the guy’s car goes into your car and these other two cars over here,” he said, pointing to my two car neighbors in the theater lot.
My stomach was in knots imagining the scene - especially since my car wouldn’t have been involved had the crazy guy not gone back for a repeat attack.
Car Hood Guy was really enjoying the memory of what had happened not fifteen minutes ago. “Yeah the guy who got hit was really crapping his pants and screamin’ ‘What the hell are you doin’ man?!’ while he was getting pushed into the other cars. Heh heh heh…”
I looked my car over. It was only a couple years old at that point, so it had already experienced the first few dings. I didn’t see any new sign of damage. I thanked Car Hood Guy (yes, I really did), he chuckled more as he lay back down on his car hood, re-entering his own semi-hallucinatory dreamworld. I went to the police station the next day, and after being forced to explain that I was the victim and not the perpetrator of a car hit to the mean lady behind the counter, I did some paperwork that amounted to nothing and went on my way.
Car hit number two was similar. It happened on the main street of a cute little town. I was minding my own business, eating in a pizza restaurant. I finished, left, and went to my car which was parked on the street right in front of the joint.
Just like the previous incident, I found a note on my car - though this one was on the driver’s side window. And once again, even though I was married at this point, I had hoped the note was from a chick who was trying to get with me because I want to believe that I’ve still “got it”.
But my hopes were dashed again when I read the note in childlike handwriting. “Somebody hit your car,” it read. “I saw them. I got their license number. It was a Pennsylvania plate. I work down the street at the real estate office.” (why is that important?). He signed it with his name - Barry - and his phone number. I knew without hesitation that this was going to turn out weird.
As I was reading, I noticed a guy tapping on the window of the pizza place. His mouth was opened and I could see partially-chewed pizza inside. He was pointing at the note, then back at himself. Yes, it was Barry in the flesh. And I think the pizza was peppers and sausage.
I went back into the pizza place and Barry introduced himself by saying “I’m Barry. I left you that note” and then giving me the same bare bones description of what happened that the note contained. His personality was a little off, and that’s being kind.
I asked him for more detail, but he just reiterated everything again. This guy was not one for detail. Barry seemed robotic. Or at least cyborgish. The only thing he added this time was, “When he hit your car, there was a loud boom - so loud that it echoed among the buildings!” Then he made the boom sound. It was pretty scary.
Okay, that scared me. I couldn’t seen any damage on the front of my car, but if the impact was loud enough for that scary echo, I should probably get it checked out. I thanked him and called the cops.
When the cop showed up, he wound up talking to both me and Barry separately. The cop came over to me after questioning Barry, and he seemed a little confused - or maybe disturbed - as he wrote up his report.
If that moment had been in a thriller movie, there would have been a slow zoom into the cop’s face followed by a slow zoom into mine. We both looked over and Barry was watching us both with little smile. He seemed different now. Maybe a little… insane?
“The witness told me he was sitting right there when he saw the other guy hit your car,” the cop said as he pointed to Barry, still at his window seat. “Is that what he told you?”
“Yes,” I replied. “He said that the impact was so hard, the sound echoed off all the buildings.” My adrenaline was pumping.
The cop nodded. “He told me that, too,” he said. “But look at your car.” He pointed to the license plate on the front bumper.
I crouched and checked out my plate. “It looks okay,” I said. “No damage.”
“Right,” the cop said. “But if someone hit your car hard enough for the sound to echo off these buildings, how come license plate doesn’t even have a ding in it?”
If that moment had been in a thriller movie, there would have been a slow zoom into the cop’s face followed by a slow zoom into mine. We both looked over and Barry was watching us both with a little smile. He seemed different now. Maybe a little… insane?
The cop told me he’d look into the license number Barry had given him. He also told me to take my car to a body shop and have it checked - if it had been hit as hard as Barry claimed, there would be some damage to the axles. I agreed, suddenly feeling part of a criminal investigation. Maybe Barry had committed much worse crimes than bearing false witness to hit and runs. Maybe he was the local madman and my possibly-fake-car-hit would turn up key information in his case.
It didn’t wind up being as dramatic as all that, but it was still weird. The Pennsylvania license plate number Barry had given couldn’t be connected to any car in the state. Hmm…
And I took my car into my dealer. They put it on a lift right in front of me as two guys checked it out.
“What did you say happened to it?” one mechanic asked as he searched around with a light.
“Supposedly it was hit really hard,” I replied.
He put down the light and looked at me. “Buddy,” the mechanic said, “This car’s in perfect shape. If another car even tapped it, I’d be shocked.”
Add some reverb and delay to the last couple words he said and you’d have my reaction. The whole thing was pretty freaky.
I never got to the bottom of it, but sometimes while driving around that cute little town, I pass the real estate office where Barry works (or claims to have worked), and I always feel a chill up my spine. Maybe Barry made the whole thing up. Maybe it was even him who hit my car. Do you think? And maybe… just maybe… the calls were coming from inside the house…
