Small town expectations meet suspicious Americans attitudes

I generally think of myself as a trusting guy. Sure I lock the car all the time. But that’s an old habit from my Park Service days – never leave a car unlocked in a visitor center parking lot, or rest stop… There are folks who prey on such trusting souls. But in general, I think I have faith in others. There was that time someone came by Rosenstock, the house I lived in at the Marin Headlands, who was hungry, so I invited him in for a bowl of cereal. There was my complete faith that the Peace Corps, Winrock and the universe would take care of my when I went overseas. Shoot, there was my trust that moving here to NZ was going to work out nicely.

So last weekend, I sort of surprised myself with my suspicious nature. I’d heard my neighbor Mr. Lalor talking with someone for some time in the garage, which abuts my bedroom wall. He’s a sweet old man (94 – same age as my grandma) who seems to have locals buzzing around with some frequency, painting, cleaning, visiting, bringing food. I didn’t think a thing about it, until there was a knock on my door, so I went to say hello.

The guy at my door tells me that they are coming to extend the driveway sometime soon. My car, which is parked in my driveway, is in the way and needs to be moved. ‘Do I have a spare that I can give to him?’

To explain a bit, I share a driveway with Mr. Lalor, as it runs the length of the property past his house and garage, to my front door. Our homes and the garage in the middle are basically all one long structure. There’s a tall fence that runs along the property line next to the driveway. Where I park, at the end of the driveway is the same place that Mr. Lalor used to use when he backed out of his garage to turn around and head out the driveway facing forward. This is no small feat as the space is quite narrow. The fence has dents and scrapes, both fresh and old, to illustrate the challenge turning around here poses.

So the property management folks, and my landlord, Mr. Lalor’s daughter, planned to extend the driveway to set my car free from imminent danger. I’d seen him back out the driveway into the mailboxes one of my first days here, so I expected my rear bumper to be dinged sometime or another if we didn’t stretch the drive a bit.

Now that the time had come, I didn’t quite expect it to come with a request for my keys. While the guy at the door and I had introduced ourselves and shaken hands I wasn’t quite ready to hand him a key to my car. He said the company doing the work was a local road contractor which would send some guys over in between jobs sometime in the next few weeks. My car being parked in the driveway was a problem. ‘So did I have a spare key he could give to them to move the car when they showed up to do the work?’

I came inside to get the key, before thinking about it. When I got to the door, I fibbed a bit, feeling the need to think this one through. I told him I’d have to make a copy, but that I was uncomfortable with giving these road contractor guys a key – (not him, as we were old chums now, after all of 15 seconds of conversation at my front door).

He seemed genuinely put out that I didn’t see the wisdom and simplicity of his solution. I said I didn’t know who or how many guys were at this firm, or what they’d do with my keys. But my biggest concern was that the Subaru Legacy is the most stolen car in the country – which every insurance company told me, when I first got the car. So this wasn’t entirely my suspicious distrusting American attitude. It was based on fact and genuine risk. My increased insurance rates prove it.

I offered to leave a key with Mr. Lalor, but we both realized he’s not around often. He’s a busy guy for his age. Off to church each morning, then to visit his wife each afternoon, who recently made the move to a retirement home, here in town. So odds were he might not be home when they came by…

He said they were good fellas, it’s an old company, been around forever, nothing to worry about. There would probably be more risk leaving the car on the street… Still, I chose to park on the street and hoped I would beat the national odds for Legacy theft.

Now, a week later, the driveway is finished, and my car is still with me. But I’m sure I’ve spread the notion that American’s are distrusting souls. I can live with that.

What do you think? Would you have given the guy a key? Does small town trust have its limits?