I got pissed off when I discovered the damage. The outside mirror of my parked new car had been knocked off. Disgruntled, I threw the broken part on the passenger seat, took a few pictures of the damage with my cell phone and drove to the nearest police station.
The man at the station listened to my whining calmly and said he would send someone right away to take care of my matter. Unfortunately, this had become almost a daily routine in the street where I had parked, which is why long-term parkers there would also fold in their wing mirrors as a precaution. Many thanks for the discreet hint. Grumbling to myself, I now squatted in the vestibule and waited for my colleague to arrive.
“Are you the gentleman with the broken wing mirror?” A nice female voice woke me from my gloomy thoughts full of murderous lust. I looked up and a young female police officer was standing casually in the doorway, patiently waiting for my response. I grumbled a disgruntled “unfortunately” and rose. She wanted to take my data and that of my car first before she would look at the damage. I followed her into an office and patiently answered her questions. Her calm, friendly manner helped me get off my palm and process this unending pain. Complete nonsense, even if a new wing mirror would cost well over 200 euros, it would be very annoying, but such a fuss is unworthy of a real man.
