Oh crap. A glance in the rear-view mirror shows a cop car closing in. I’m so nailed, in so many ways. I turn right onto a dirt road, park, and wait. By the time the cop’s gadget-festooned torso fills my open widow, blocking the sun, I’m ready.
“Registration and insurance,” he says, holding out his hand. But I know the glove box is empty. “I don’t have either,” I say, handing him, instead, the bill of sale for this car, bought five minutes ago a kilometre up the road. “I’m on my way to the insurance office now.” The office is only 15 metres further, just around the next bend.
“Please get out of the car, ma’am.” I do. He circles the car. “You’re looking at hefty fines for driving without insurance or plates.” [$598 + $196] “Plus, you can’t drive this car now – it’s illegal for it to be on the road – and you can’t leave it here, so I’m going to have to call a tow truck.” [$65]
I take a deep breath, look him in the eye, and focus. It’s time to sell, my way. I speak softly. “My husband and I just moved here last week and the moving expenses were much higher than we’d expected.” I look around for something to offer him as a way out. “The Commons parking lot is right across the road,” I say. “If you allow me to drive across the road and park there while I walk to the insurance office and get the documentation and plates, I’d be very grateful. I’d be quick about it.” He perks up a little, as though negotiations invigorate him.
“Nope,” he says, “I can’t let you do that.” I say nothing, sensing that, with this cop, begging is not the way to go. We gaze at each other. I remain silent and still.
“May I see your driver’s license?” he asks. I hand it over. “This still has your Vancouver address,” he says. “Your license must show your current address.” I take a small step backwards. “I’m sorry,” I say. “About all of this. Our move has been somewhat stressful.” I pause. He waits. I go on with another offer of a way out. “Do you think the insurance company can help me register my new address?”
He looks at me speculatively, my driver’s license still in his hand, and makes a decision. “Turn the car around and park it up under those trees, off the road. I’ll give you two hours to take care of the paperwork and get plates on the car.” I immediately get into the car and move it. Meanwhile, he writes away on his handy ticket-writer device. I’m not out of the woods yet.
“I’m giving you a warning for driving without a current license.” He writes a while longer, then glances up. “You’re getting a very good deal here.” I smile hesitantly. “That’s really very kind of you,” I say, and I mean it. Adrenaline starts to seep away. He hands me all the documents and drives off. Within the hour, the car is all in order and gone.
What does all of that have to do with the power of positive shrinking?
I’m not cut out for big gestures, for the mighty sell or the calculated batting of eyelashes. I don’t do manipulation very well, or tricks, or subterfuge. But I’m a whiz at genuine and honest and reasonable and thoughtful. I’m good at laser-focused reasoning under pressure. And I’m easy to believe because I’m naturally honest and intensely honourable.
I’m like a black hole where falseness goes to die.
Don’t try to be big if your natural talents are all about the incredible, concentrated, unique power of small.
Related reading: Pep Talk | Tenderize
Flickr photo: walking in australia, by banjobelknap
6 Comments
This is simply, honestly lovely. And I think that in addition to the power of shrinking, you absolutely had authenticity on your side. It’s so true that honesty can be quiet and earnest, understated, even, with no side serving of flirtation (be it marketing or sexual or whatever). We don’t need megaphones or multi-media platforms to deliver our true stories. Thanks for sharing — and I’m so glad you had a good outcome!
What a great story. I bet you made that officer’s day. They take the job to help people, right? And you gave him an opportunity to help you out without doing anything unethical.
letting someone else be a hero…I like it.
This really struck home for me Grace and I commend you most heartily on both your handling of the situation and the realization (and naming) of the Power of Positive Shrinking!
For years, I’ve received help from the most unlikely people by simply being honest about whatever it is they want me to do and I can’t. Example: being treated in the ER for a rash that covered much of my face, and threatened to eat it too — ick! — doc was writing prescriptions by the handfull, and I said, Thank you but those are useless for me so there’s no point in your spending your time and energy writing them. Why? Because I do not have the $ to get them filled. Within moments a case worker arrived, paper work was filled out and the hospital foundation paid for all the meds he wanted me to have. Oh. And the rash went away and left my face behind. LOL!
But I never thought of this way of being in the world might have a name. And such a lovely name – The Power of Positive Shrinking! I really love it!
Thanks Grace!
I’m glad you found something about this that resonates. Often when I’m writing this type of post I do it as a fishing expedition, in part. I have a deep desire to see if what’s really true for me, particularly in the secret places that don’t get talked about much, is true for others, too. It’s always a relief to know that such things ring bells for others, too.
Viva Jo’s face!
What a beautiful testament to the power of authenticity and humility. Thanks so much for this post, a valuable reinforcement to an approach that is unrecognized and undervalued in our culture. It provided me with tremendous boost and validation for my natural way of being!
Great, Melissa. I’m so glad to hear that.
Yes, we are here and we are finding each other and getting stronger individually and collectively — I see it in so many ways these days.