Remember when I said we were in the zone?

Oh boy.

Today’s town trip was a doozy!  So many things.  I mentioned in this post how things were clicking perfectly along.  How we were getting into a steady, predictable groove.  And then I predicted the future and said I had about 10 minutes before something crazy would happen.  (Sidenote: remind me to start buying lottery tickets, because I kinda did predict the future.)

It all started on a Friday town trip when I was trying to quickly check everything off of my list so I could get back to camp and enjoy a nice relaxing evening.  I had just pulled into the bank parking lot, got out, locked the truck, and then patiently stepped aside as another guy got in his vehicle and proceeded TO BACK INTO THE SUBURBAN.  It was one of those moments where time slows down and you are watching it happen knowing the guy is .3 seconds away from ramming into the back corner of your truck and you are powerless to stop it.  The sound is really bad.  A terrible crunch.  What I didn’t expect was the instant pit in MY stomach, that “oh no I just did something really bad and now I might get yelled at as an adult by another adult” feeling.  I don’t get this very often.  And I had done nothing wrong, it was definitely the other guy’s fault.

The second thought/feeling I got was “I really REALLY don’t want to deal with this right now” and “are you freaking kidding me!”  The guy pulled forward, turned the truck off, and got out looking really confused.  I handed him his tail light and asked if it was his.  Again, he just looked really confused.

This is the moment where I wonder what the heck to do next.  I haven’t been in an accident in a LONG time.  The last one was my fault and I found myself in the middle of a busy intersection standing in my swimsuit. (I was headed home from the pool and I rear-ended someone).  But that is another story for another day.  So here I am in the CIBC bank parking lot (not in my swimsuit) mostly feeling like this is a waste of time, and wondering what a non-resident does.  Do I call the Ontario Provincial Police?  Do I just get the guy’s information?  The probability of us fixing the suburban is at zero, but do I just tell the guy to give me a few hundred bucks and call it good?  I quickly decided that the best thing to do was get the guy’s information and then go call Travis.  I walked in the bank, made my deposit (I mean, I was already standing in line!) and asked to use their phone.  No answer.  I then decide to ask bank teller Kim what she would do.  She seemed equally unsure.

Come on Carrie, put your big girl adult-ing pants on and figure this out.  I walk back outside, tell the guy thanks for his information and that we will be in touch, and tackle the rest of my to-do list. The 2009 version of Carrie would have been completely overwhelmed by this.  It would have probably resulted in tears and derailed my day.  But on this day, I realized it mattered not to have an extra dent in the truck.  It mattered more to be safe, and that the truck was drivable, and that I could carry on with my errands and get back to camp at a reasonable time. Turns out stuff is just that.  Stuff. And as a lodge owner it was more important to have reliable, durable stuff than nice looking stuff. Suburban – durable and reliable?  Check. Check.

So yeah, town trips.  Today was another doozy.  But I did it!  And now I’m headed back just in time for dinner. Happy Monday, folks!

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