Saying Goodbye to my Honda Civic

2014 Honda Civic Si in a parking garage

Back in May, I had to say goodbye to Bruce — my 2014 Honda Civic Si — after a colossal jackass smashed into it while it was parked, shortly after midnight on Cinco de Mayo.

I know it’s a little melodramatic to say goodbye to a vehicle; it’s just a car, after all. I wasn’t in it, and I assume no one else got hurt (I can’t say that for certain, not knowing who the driver was nor if he hit anyone else that night). I had insurance to replace it. I shouldn’t be upset.

But that moment of realizing that I’ve been criminally wronged, after leaping out of bed to the sound of that unmistakable, concussive crunch, and being met with the understanding that there would be no consequences for the driver of that white Jeep Grand Cherokee, it’s impossible to combat the adrenaline rush and separate myself from emotion. Now, add to that already heightened state of emotion a little bit of sentimental attachment to the car because it was the first car I bought as an adult.

I screamed, I yelled, and I said some bad words. And after I had calmed down, spoken with the police, and dried off from standing in the drizzling rain, I let go of a few tears. It’s objectively ridiculous to be upset over stuff like this, but I couldn’t help it.

A week later, unsurprising to me, my insurance decided to declare the car a total loss; the frame had been severely warped by the sandwich-like impact, and there was crushing damage to the powertrain. So naturally I let out another tear.

The shock has since worn off, and I’m in the process of acquiring a new vehicle, so I have some things to say to everyone involved in the last two months.

To my Insurance Company:

I’d like to just express my appreciation to Farm Bureau. This isn’t an advertisement, just an honest testimony. They paid above and beyond the Kelly Blue Book value for my car, which I suspect was due to the insane used car market with which we all are finding ourselves. Their claims representatives and my local agent were excellent in helping me navigate a rather stressful situation. None of the horror stories about insurance companies screwing over accident victims came true, although I was prepared and braced for them.

To Tim, Candice, and Delilah, thank you.

To Service King:

Thank you for doing such a good job repairing the 2018 Civic Hatchback that was also in the damage path. Although, might I suggest wrapping all of the car in protection before repainting. I had quite a difficult time removing the clear-coat overspray from all the windows and windscreen.

To the State of Tennessee:

At some point in your history, you decided that someone who causes over $25,000 in property damage with their three-ton metallic death machine and then flees the scene is only punishable by a traffic citation, for which the police will not investigate.

Fix that.

To the unknown driver:

Your lack of hesitation to even stop and consider what you had done reveals everything about who you are as a man. You are small, worthless, and a stain on this city. You’re an infantile dipshit with no capacity for care beyond your pale, slimy flesh. I hope karma comes back to bite you in the ass with a fury unrivaled by any force known to science. Hell, I wish the state would permit me delivering that karma in the form of a swinging crowbar meeting your kneecaps, you abhorrent, pathetic excuse for a human being.

I suspect you were drunk, because that’s what scumbags like you do: they drive drunk. You need help, get it. I resisted the urge to find you and turn you in, but you will not face the same fate when you inevitably hurt or God forbid kill someone.

Get your life together. Prick.

And finally, To Bruce:

Bruce,

You were a great little car. There may have been times where I complained about your rough-riding sport-tuned suspension, or your paper mache speaker system, but I really enjoyed every trip. You took me to and from virtually every corner of the southeastern United States, took my cats to the vet, took me to weddings and funerals, to my job, and to my friends. We somehow survived countless I-24 rush hours. Oh my! The many, many Nashville rush hours we navigated! You were reliable, dependable, useful, and a hell of a lot of fun to drive. There will be better cars in my future, but there won’t be one I enjoyed quite like you.

Goodbye, friend.