Joe 11: The Dent

First off, I’m aware you all know about the dent in the bright orange Dodge Dart that I drive to school every day. I’m aware that my Smiles and Frowns/life story updates have been peppered with tales of the reasonably-small blemish above the left wheel well. I’m aware that I sound kind of like a clown for making it as big a deal as it is, for the damage isn’t really anything past a slight error in a parking job.

However, in a rather surprising turn of events, that dent has sent me spiraling into reconsideration about a lot of things.

The temporary solution to the issue

Maybe it was the icy sensation of my heart dropping into my feet when I heard the gut-wrenching screech of metal being shredded against a garage entrance. Perhaps it was the fact that looking at the crunched fender left me with the feeling one gets after stepping on their dog’s tail accidentally (except, y’know, 20x worse). You could even chalk it up to my dad, a certifiable man of composure and a “car guy,” taking one look at the damage and exclaiming “OH MY GOD, BRO!” in surprise. I honestly have no idea.

Whatever the cause, I felt awful. In fact, I’ve never been so ready to throw money at a problem until it goes away. That’s saying something coming from the dude who has now written three separate blog posts that allude to how broke I am constantly. It confused me as well. Why did such a minor incident have me reeling for a way to shoot a cannon full of bills at the nearest dent repairman?

I answered my question sort of by accident a few days later. I was talking about our cars with a close friend of mine, and the conversation shifted to why I love mine as much as I do. There were the basic answers, such as “it’s the coolest car ever,” or “because I’ve spent so much time working to keep it, I have a great pride in that 6-speed subcompact chariot of glory.” These are both very true, don’t get me wrong. But for some reason, a third response popped into my brain.

I told her that car gave me the freedom I’d been craving for almost every second of my 16.5 years of my life. I am free to foster a social life, make money, and just go somewhere because the mood strikes. That car gave me that gift, and I love it for that reason.

It harkens back to why I was so horrified by that dent. I’d hurt one of my closest companions. The means by which I live my life to the fullest. And sure I could’ve wrapped it around a tree going 80 on a highway or drove it face-first into a ditch. But walking outside and seeing the fender looking good-as-new was relief beyond compare.

I am happy to report the car is on-track to getting 100% fixed this weekend by the power of my elbow grease, my dad’s knowledge of what do even do, and a sprinkling of jank. The Road Cone will be back to looking as good as the day it rolled off the assembly line. Only lasting downside? I have yet to park in my garage without having to stop, confront my inner demons, pray, and meditate before even considering a parking attempt. Hopefully that goes away soon.