Stages of Guilt

The wind blew the car door of the passenger side into the brand-new, bubble-shaped, baby-blue car that was parked beside it.

After scrubbing off the green paint that the door had left from our car, an almost imperceptible dent remained.

I panicked and left a note. Apologizing and leaving my phone number. Hoping that the owner of bubblecar wouldn't call me back.

He did and I'm wracked with anxiety.

Guilt is an amazing phenomenon. Similar to grief, it produces a bizarre, staged process:

Denial:

I didn't actually make a mark. There was no damage done. He won't call. I won't be asked to pay.

Anger:

How dare the the wind blow the car door open. Why did he park so close anyway? How dare he call me back to talk about paying for the damage to his car? Why did I have to be so stupid and leave a note?

Bargaining:

Maybe if his insurance pays 70% then I can just pay 30%. He could just hold off fixing it until there is additional damage and call me then-- at which time I'll be safely in Mexico... Given that he's my neighbor, I could agree to make him cookies for the next 6 mths instead?

Depression:

I'm screwed. Money down the toilet. These things always happen to me.

Acceptance:

He's already called. I'm going to pay, mistakes happen. It's just money anyway.