Balls and Humanity
A friend of mine at work was at Lake Hefner this weekend with his father to enjoy a day of sailing.
Upon taking a break and going back to the car to grab something, they found that the rear windshield had been shattered. On the car was a note from a woman with a name and phone number, and a message reading that she believed her golf ball to have hit the car and to call her to get things straightened out.
So my friend and his father (who is pushing 70 by the way) call this woman, telling her how noble and honest it was of her to leave her number and take responsibility like that. Not a lot of people would have done that and they were quite appreciative.
As my friend was telling me this story, I saw a flicker of hope that suggested that perhaps mankind isn't for the most part consisting of inconsiderate jack ass morons. Little tid bits like this make me sometimes pause to reconsider my lack of faith in humanity.
BUT. The story wasn't finished.
The woman who left the note suddenly decided that the more she thought about it, the more she came to believe that it couldn't have been her ball that shattered the window...and that even if it was, there was no proof that it was her ball that broke it, and she didn't have insurance anyways...so nevermind.
She didn't have insurance, huh? So that's why she left her name and phone number for the owner of the car to call her to "straighten things out."
Revocation of responsibility, check. Good karma effectively demolished, check.
Backing out of a potential good deed done...now THAT sounds more like what I would expect from people.
If I had been my friend or his father, I would have taken the opportunity to utilize the fact that I had this sketchy bitch's number in my hot little hand. Imagine all the fun you could have with that information. I'm thinking that some skeezy men's bathroom stalls across the metro are just BEGGING to house it...like LOVES or the Red Dog.
"Call Jane Doe at #123-4567. She smacks balls so hard that your windows will crack."
