Evil does not wear black

I had a bad experience a week ago that reinforced my view of the complexity of character.

I awoke and looked out my window to find a man on his cell phone dictating my car’s license plate number and other identification to what I assumed was an emergency dispatcher or tow service.

Before my car could be towed I put pants on over my pajamas and headed downstairs to ask him what the fuck was going on. I was parked legally. My plates and tags were current. I was ready for some kind of idiotic face-off where two uninformed and mistaken individuals shout at each other while a third party films the encounter. My heart started pounding in anticipation.

It turned out to be even dumber than expected. Two grungy individuals in a recreational vehicle (RV) had somehow destroyed the side view mirror of my 2008 Corolla and left it dangling. They also damaged the front bumper.

The woman in the passenger seat made a ruse of leaving a note (it turned out to be a blank piece of paper). Fortunately a nearby construction contractor (the man I first saw) had taken a photo that included the driver, the woman, and the license plate of the shitty RV. She had the gall to yell at him in anger for taking a photo.

Replacing the mirror ultimately cost me $265. The repair shop quoted $900 to repair the bumper, which I declined because it was basically optional, and $1000 was approaching 1/3 of the vehicle’s value.

I was really grateful to the guy from the construction site. I spoke over the phone with a detective dealing with hit-and-runs and he reinforced what I already knew: even though the license plate was known, there was little chance I would be reimbursed.

I wondered what would happen if a police officer visited this couple. Perhaps paying $265 (or over $1000) would crush them. They might have other arrest warrants for survival activities such as public dumping or stealing tap water. They are almost certainly living in that shitty RV. They might have injected heroin as soon as they woke up that morning to feed a deeply ingrained addiction. They might consider themselves harassed, sorry victims somehow.

I walked away feeling neutral. I wish I could park my car on the goddamn street without strangers fucking it up. On the other hand I was reminded that bad things happen without ill intent. That there is very little in the world that can be called evil. That the breakers and destroyers are more sloppy and inconsiderate than malicious. And that a black-caped, mustache-twirling figure is less likely to ruin your day than a fat woman in tie dye and sweatpants.