Caught Someone Damaging My Tesla: The Aftermath

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10 hours ago

'I think that kid just scratched your car!' my physical therapist said, looking out of his large office window that faced the parking lot. He hurried out the door as I stood against the wall, mid-exercise, with a deflated ball behind my knee.
Huh?
I quickly followed him outside, where we found a kid, probably about 16 or 17, standing slump-shouldered after being caught. They had a look that seems to be especially popular among many teens these days: short cropped hair, chipped black polish on nibbled nails, handcuff earrings, an oversize, faded Pussy Riot T-shirt and oversize pants.
'Did you scratch my car?' I demanded.
'I didn't scratch it!' they said.
'What did you do to my car?' I pressed.
'I didn't scratch it. I just put a sticker on it,' they replied sheepishly.
We moved to the back of my Tesla, where a 'Swasticar' sticker now adorned its bumper.
'I'm sorry. I'll take it off,' they said, kneeling down.
'You know, I bought this car thinking I was doing the right thing,' I said as they picked away at the surprisingly tenacious sticker. 'I didn't know things were going to turn out this way.'
When I bought my Tesla several years ago, I had just moved to Santa Fe, New Mexico, from New York, where I hadn't owned a car for 20 years. I had moved to a place where drought, fire mitigation, and water restrictions are common topics of conversation — only a few months after I bought my car, nearly a million acres burned in one of the largest forest fires in the state — so buying a Tesla felt like making an environmentally responsible purchase. I had no idea Elon Musk would become the man he is today or do the things he has done — and is doing. If I had to buy a car today, I'd certainly make a different choice.
'I'm really sorry,' they said.
People walking through the parking lot eyed the situation playing out behind my car: a kid earnestly trying to remove a sticker while I loomed over them with my arms crossed. Both of us felt awkward in the silence.
What do I do now? I wondered. Yell at them? Threaten to call their parents — or the cops?
I took a breath and relaxed my stance.
'I get that you're frustrated. I'm frustrated too,' I told them.
They looked up, a bit surprised that I was offering a moment of understanding rather than further shaming them.
'I am. I'm really angry,' they said.
'What's going on?' I softly asked.