Every day, an elderly man, sorta like this guy here, rides his bicycle around our church's campus. Round and round in a big circle he goes, like the kid named Adam Farmer in Robert Cormier's I Am the Cheese.
Our "Adam" is kind of a grumpy dude who doesn't really like it when cars enter or leave the lot. Because you know, it's his track. He has been known to throw staff an unkind word and unsympathetic look when we dare to leave for lunch or go home.
Perhaps he thinks we should join him.
Anyway, today, he came staggering into my office saying, "Who has the green Camaro?"
And that's when I crawled under my desk because I thought I had left it in gear and that it had rolled over the man who was barely alive to tell about it.
But no, he said, "I just hit your car."
Come again?
He said, "I don't know what happened. I guess I was just so caught up in the moment that I didn't see it until I was right-up on it."
So it tore the cover on the front, aka "Le Bra," but I think no real damage was done. Except maybe to Adam Farmer, who said, "And I hit my artificial knee."
Uh-oh.
So I had to fill out an accident report because ... a man ran his bike into my car. Which was sitting in plain view in a parking lot with nothing else around it for yards and yards.
How odd.
I should be more upset, but how could I be when I know this is exactly the kind of thing I do as a normal course in life?
Perhaps "Adam" is my soul mate, and fate had him ram my car, like a sucker punch of love.
Nah. I still like Jorge the Jabanero. But he'd better watch his back. The vultures are circling.
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