It was a magnificent Monday. My “workday” consisted of driving a carload of fun grade-school kids to camp. Then I had to suffer in the mountains of New Mexico as someone else entertained, taught, and played with the kids all day. Finally I’d get to drive the bruised, smelly, sleeping brutes back to the church office. How hard could it be?
I’d been working for 10 years to get our church kids involved in summer camp. Nothing had worked—for many different reasons. But this year everything seemed to click. We were bringing kids to Glorieta 2, a new camp just an hour away.
Since this was our first year of camp, we decided to try “day camp” rather than “resident camp.” This meant we had to drive our kids to the camp and back every day. For Day One, I was one of three drivers. This meant I had to drive someone else’s Ford Explorer, as it sat more kids than my Wrangler. I never thought to read our insurance papers on borrowed vehicles.
The Big Bang
So I left home in the borrowed two-year-old Ford Explorer around 6 a.m. I didn’t have to be at the church office for a half hour, but it was beautiful out, and I had a few things to do in the office before the kids showed up anyway.
At 6:02, a quarter mile from my house, I was driving happily along, adjusting the mirrors, the seat, the radio, and finding a cup holder for my coffee when I heard it—BANG! Having watched the entire series of “24,” I first checked to make sure I didn’t have a hole in my chest. Surprisingly, I was okay.
Having watched the entire series of “24,” I first checked to make sure I didn’t have a hole in my chest. Surprisingly, I was okay.
That’s when I looked up from the mirrors, seat, radio, and leaning coffee cup. I’ve no idea how the curb jumped out of the right hand lane and hit the front passenger’s side tire.
I figured it must have blown the tire, as the steering wheel jumped in my hands with the BANG. It would be embarrassing to call and let everyone know why I was going to be late. I decided to jump out, quickly change the tire, and get back to the office on time without anyone knowing. I’d have to buy a tire and talk to the owners later, but that was doable. More importantly, my pride would stay intact. Unfortunately, both my pride and the Ford were hurt worse than I thought.
When I tried to drive off to the side of the road, the Explorer wouldn’t move.
Piece of junk.
I got out. Amazingly, the tire looked fine.
I looked closer. The wheel looked fine.
Upon looking closer yet, I saw the axle had popped out of the transmission. NO! I tried to calm down. I said to myself, “Self, how could the axle fall out from hitting a curb?”
It was worse than I thought.
The lower control arm had broken. If you don’t know what that is, it’s bad. But it was about to get worse.
The Pathetic Phone Calls
I had to call Sue, our children’s director, to let her know that the kids waiting for me weren’t getting their ride. No ride, on the first day of camp, the first church camp in ten long years. When I called, Sue of course wanted to know what happened. I had my answer ready. “You see, Sue, there was this semi coming into my lane from the left while at the same time a homeless man was stumbling into my lane from the right. Maybe it was an angel, maybe my superior reflexes, I’m not sure, but I managed to swerve into the curb and avoid them both. Thankfully everyone is okay!” Iso wanted to lie.
But I told the truth.
Thankfully, Sue is an incredible director and had already had an emergency list of other drivers and cars “for such a time as this.” She had probably even read the insurance policy. So, Sue called for backup and the kids made it to camp. But for me it was getting worse.
I was on Southern Blvd., a five-lane road with two lanes going each direction and one in the middle for those needing to turn in somewhere. I was stuck in the left lane over. Drivers had to weave into either the curb lane or the turn lane to get around me. A passer-by called the cops to help direct traffic. I called AAA for a free tow. But I had another call to make. The owner of the car.
Standing on the side of the road by a telephone pole, I pulled out my cellphone, flushed the rest of my pride down the sewer curb drain, and called the owner of the wrecked Explorer.
Clay, the owner, was understanding and kept the call graciously brief. Little did I know that was because he was cancelling his morning meetings and coming to see me. Meanwhile, I still had an hour to wait for the wrecker. Plenty of time for things to get worse.
The Awkward Audience
When you do something exceedingly stupid, wouldn’t you like to do it in solitude? Southern Blvd. is not a street of solitude. Neighbors and church folks saw me (some stopped to help). How do you respond? Do you wave back? Smile? Hide in the cop car? It was a L-O-N-G hour. Then it got worse.
Sometimes I wish I’d been born before cellphones, cameras, and the interweb. The pride I had left wasn’t worth saving, so I posted the story on Facebook to try and stop all the questions already hitting cyberspace. I didn’t work.
Clay showed up to help. His first words were, “I just want to make sure this doesn’t go down on our insurance. We have three teenage boys at home, you know.” Not having a clue what our church insurance covered—and what it didn’t—my mind started spinning, and I mumbled something about it now being a problem.
The Malevolent Insurance Agent
Finally, the Ford found a new home in the dealership body shop, and Clay, the cops, the personality-deprived tow truck driver, and I all went back to work. I immediately called our insurance agent. After explaining the accident, the young gal on the phone asked me, “Let me get this right—you hit a stationary object?”
I hate owning stupid.
I kept going back to the body shop over the next couple of days. I knew we needed to personally pay for the damage rather than have it put on the owner’s insurance. Shock came when the estimate climbed close to $4,000. My wife was still letting me sleep in the house … most nights.
Finally Wednesday night I was told our insurance would cover it if we wanted. We wanted!
Sometimes things that sound too good to be true, are.
Thursday, after three phone calls going through all the red tape to get it covered, I was told they would not cover it. It’s really quite plain and in large print in the policy. Under “Borrowing or Using Others’ Vehicles,” point one says, “Make sure owners understand that their insurance is responsible for any damage done by the vehicle or to the vehicle.” I think they said something different on Wednesday because their day was boring.
“Hey, Suzie, guess what I told that pastor? I told him we would cover a claim on a borrowed car! HA! What an idiot. He believed me! Just wait till he hears the truth tomorrow. So, want to go get a Starbucks?”
The End
Clay contacted his insurance before we took out the cash. They were able to claim it without it affecting their rates, because no one in the family was driving.
The rest of the week at camp went smoothly—thanks to more capable drivers—and we are planning to do the resident camp next year. I can sleep in the house again. Even Clay still talks to me.
But no one will loan me their car.
Dan is pastor of Cottonwood Church in Rio Rancho, New Mexico and author of BIZARRE Bible Stories, and BIZARRE Bible Stories 2. You can reach him at DanielCooley.com.
Copyright © 2015 by the author or Christianity Today/Leadership Journal. Click here for reprint information on Leadership Journal.
