Collision course

Collision course

Musings

Sonia Kelly

FOR the second Christmas running the threat of prison has been hanging over me. Last year it was because I’d parked in a loading bay, this year it was because I’d collided with an irate driver on Bridge Street.

His car came round from the church and we met unexpectedly as I crossed over opposite the bookshop. My nemesis leapt out of his car and immediately demanded my name and address. After that, we inspected his vehicle for damage and, during a lot of bluster, he found a minute scratch under some mud.

Meanwhile, a knight (albeit not in shining armour) appeared at my side with words of reassurance and support, agreeing that your man’s car had not been reduced to salvage. Eventually, just before he burst into flames, the driver got back into his vehicle, proclaiming loudly, “I’m going to report you!” and drove off. Report me for what, I wondered – attempted murder? Well, I knew that merited a spell in the clink, so the next day I surrendered to the police, to save them the trouble of hunting me down.

On arrival I was brought inside the crash barrier, so to speak, and walked down a long corridor – presumably to a holding cell. But no – we went into an interview room where I described the collision and asked if I would have free legal aid. The officer said he thought so and left to check the computer for my accuser’s report.

On my own, I tried to imagine the turn the interview might take when the enormity of my crime became apparent. It was quite hard, though, to visualise any of the guards as the aggressive monsters they are sometimes depicted, as I’ve always found them extremely helpful. That occasion turned out to be no exception.

The officer soon reappeared with the news that no accusation of attempted murder – or even of dangerous driving – had been logged. If anything further transpired, he said, I was to let him know and he would deal with it and felt sure he’d be able to keep me out of prison. So I was free to go, although I suppose I do now have a police record, as everything I said was written down.

When I passed the scene of the encounter, it occurred to me that the other car could just as well be said to have run into me, so I mentally prepared a counter charge and regretted having remained so passive during the confrontation.

However, by the end of that day, something had happened that would have further enraged my accuser. I received phone calls from people asking if I was okay and offering to be witnesses. The end result of all this bonhomie, which includes the police force, was the creation of a warm feeling of gratitude for this community spirit. Nobody was apparently blaming me, either, which was comforting, and it made me really glad that I hadn’t apologised to the driver, who was so overbearing.

Normally, I’m a great advocate of the ‘sorry’ word, as it’s guaranteed to defuse almost any hostile situation. For some reason, it seems to gratify people enormously with the implication that whatever it is is entirely your fault. It also expresses servility and regret for causing any kind of trouble, or for getting in the way – or even for existing. These implications are good to hear and make others feel superior.

I’m still glad I didn’t say it to that errant motorist, who – yes – ran into me.