Lord I'm a dumbass.
After completing a seven-hour round trip job for my company, I decided it would be normal to park the company car--a beautiful, pristine 2012 Ford Focus--in, naturally, the garage. Enter enormous-ass pickup truck parked in the lot not far from the garage's entrance.
"No enormous-ass pickup truck will be able to stop me from parking in that garage!" I said. So instead of being able to back up into what is generally an empty space and pulling in straight, I decide it would be a good idea to cut the corner. And cut the corner I did. I cut the fuck out of that corner.
After about a second, I realize that I may be in over my head. But it's too late now! The enormous-ass pickup truck is still there and I cannot back out to just call it a day. So I suicidally, against all hope, keep driving, thinking that by some miracle I can avoid the inevitable.
It's probably a couple grand worth of damage. By no means undrivable. But a couple of fairly good-sized dents and some disgusting scratching on the driver's side. I assume I'm eating the deductible (and if I'm not, I'll volunteer to. It was my stupid fault after all.).
My boss who works in the corporate office in Michigan, God bless her, begins cracking jokes at my expense, beginning with "You do realize if you damage a company car, you're fired right?" (I'm new and gullible, so my stunned silence probably guilted her into redacting) and ending with "Yeah, on your projects list, just type in 'Driving like Mister Magoo,' select it, and that'll go on your timesheet."
Tomorrow, my day will be comprised of getting the damn thing fixed. And getting made fun of on our weekly conference call.
I'm never using that bubble gum packet they call a garage ever again, by the way. Yep, I blame the architect.
I need a beer. 
