Bad Witness

Last week, this happened:That's not our car, but that is our driveway. The car is our neighbor's, and the fire started spontaneously. Somehow as the fire started the car began rolling slowly forward and continued until the front tire exploded. Nobody was injured, but the car was totaled (obviously). We only knew about the fire because the boom from the tire explosion was so loud Eric had me pause the movie we were watching to find out what was going on. Then he shouted at me to get the camera.

But this post isn't really about the car on fire. It's about what a terrible witness I would be. Here's the thing, as we went outside, we saw many other neighbors gathering on the sidewalk to watch the spectacle. At that point, we didn't know whose car it was. Since it was right next to our house, people assumed it was ours, but we told them it wasn't. People then asked if it belonged to the Cook* family who live immediately to the north of us. I told people that I didn't think it was theirs. In fact I said, "Well, the Cooks have a similar car, but theirs is a two-door, and that one's a four-door, so I don't know whose that is."

You're thinking, "Hey, Sherry, don't sweat it. The Cooks park their car in the garage every day, and you spend most your time in your house anyway. You aren't expected to know the make and model of all your neighbors' cars." Only, the thing is, the Cooks DON'T park that car in the garage every day. They park it in the street along the curb. I work from home three days a week. The office faces the street. Therefore, I had stared at the car countless times while spending time in the office. And I still didn't recognize it as the neighbor's car when it was on fire.

And that is why I would make a terrible eye-witness.

*Name has been changed.