Jonathots Daily Blog
(2690)
XIX.
I confess so I can heal.
If I deny, I remain sick.
When I was twenty-four years old, our fledgling music group was invited to Hamilton County Catholic Youth Conference to share our tunes.
The event was spear-headed by a guy named Patrick Daniels, who was the owner and proprietor of the huge, aptly named Patrick Daniels Car Dealership of Hamilton County.
Even though our rough-and-tumble style of music was not well-suited for all the Fathers and Sisters of the order, Mr. Daniels took a liking to us.
Matter of fact, he said if we ever needed assistance in any way, to give him a call.
We did. Need assistance, that is, and also, gave him a call.
I explained to Mr. Daniels that we wanted to rent a car at a very reasonable flat rate so we could do more traveling outside our little circle of influence.
He graciously agreed to do so, and we drew up a simple contract that stated that we would pay $150 a month, or whatever we could afford.
As it turned out, we never were able to afford $150. One month we paid $40, and I think on a particularly good thirty-day period, we once paid as much as $80.
Mr. Daniels didn’t seem to care.
Along the journey, we had a bizarre little accident. A cyclist ran into the driver’s front door, leaving a dent. The gentleman on the bicycle was not hurt, but the door was obviously damaged.
So we continued to drive the car with a blemished exterior, unashamed, but never informed Mr. Daniels of the damage, figuring that somewhere along the line, God, in His infinite mercy, would grant us enough money to fix the mistake.
Before that could happen, Mr. Daniels suddenly called us and told us he wanted his car back. When I asked him why, he became infuriated, talking to me about our lack of payment and also explaining that he was no longer attending church and wasn’t interested in continuing his benevolence.
So I brought the car back and walked out to show him the damage. Upon seeing it, he became enraged, asked me why we hadn’t shared about the situation sooner, and then told me that he had decided to charge us ten cents a mile for every jot and tittle we had placed on his odometer.
We couldn’t afford to pay the monthly lease, so obviously, we could not cough up the money for the door or the added charges for mileage.
I should have told him this. I didn’t.
I led him to believe that I was going to go back home and raise the money from family members.
Perhaps a little part of me thought I might do that–a teensy-weensy portion.
I really just wanted to get out of there, escaping the fiasco.
I never contacted him again.
I heard from a friend that he was criticizing us for being phonies. I figured it would blow over.
It did.
I suppose I could tell you that he went back on the deal and therefore he was partially at fault–but that would just be another lie piled onto the transgression.
Mr. Daniels needed us to be trustworthy at a time in his life when he was doubting everything he once held dear.
We ended up giving him more reasons…to shake his fist at the heavens.
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