If you’ve been itching for a story from yours truly lately, have I got one for you today! If you follow me on Instagram, you will have seen this photo pop up:
I noticed this after I left my office (also known as Local Coffee on some days, Starbucks on others) and headed to the gym on my lunch break to blow off some steam, raise my endorphins, and clear my head. I was already in a bad mood, but I won’t got into those details on here. I checked the front window. No note.
“Thanks, Jerk, for backing into my car and not leaving a note. Real classy,” I thought to myself.
Needless to say, seeing that white across my bumper did not bode well for the treadmill. I was raging mad and couldn’t wait to blow some serious smoke.
I debated with myself the entire way to the gym on whether or not I was going to post anything to social media about this unfortunate event.
“I won’t post it to Facebook because I don’t really want to be that person who vents on Facebook. But Instagram…that’s better than venting on Facebook, right?” Probably not, but it seemed like a better choice. At the gym I snapped the photo and posted it with the following caption:
Thank you, Kind Person, for backing into my car and not leaving a note. #classact
I then texted my parents and sister telling them that some jerk totally screwed up my bumper and didn’t leave a note. When I got home, I sent a text to Matthew and got this little gem:
But it gets better. His car was parked behind mine when he went to leave the house yesterday morning. Instead of getting into his car, he got into mine and backed it right into his own.
You can’t make this stuff up.
Moral of the story?
Hide your kids, hide your wife, ’cause Matthew’s backing into everything out there.