When Life Feels Unfair

I have always believed that life is innately just – what goes around comes around, or as my dad used to say, “Every dog has its day.”

Eastern philosophies call it Karma, a belief that we get what we deserve. It’s just a matter of when.

But of course, our beliefs will always be tested. This happened to me big time when I was 18.

The road trip
I’d taken a year off from study and thought a road trip up the East coast of Australia might help me sort out what I wanted to do with my life.

My older brother Raf was also at a loose end and took the opportunity to join me.

So there we were, cruising along in my beautiful orange and white 1958 FE Holden Special with chrome trims, surfboard on the roof, windows down, hair blowing in the wind, and not a care in the world.

We had taken a detour off the highway and through a country town to visit a local beach. As we approached a narrow wooden bridge, I noticed a large white Range Rover speeding down a winding hill toward us.

The prang
I instinctively slowed down and carefully steered to the side of the bridge so it could pass. But the other driver had lost control, and their car skidded across the road, its front bull bar smashing into my driver's side door, nearly knocking us off the bridge into the river below.

I eased our car to the side of the road, and we got out to assess the damage. My door was badly damaged, hanging ajar; the window was smashed, and the front guard was dented in. We were also a little shaken and shocked.

On the other side of the bridge, two large, burly guys, a bit older than us, were assessing their car. The bull bar was slightly bent and covered in orange paint from my car, but there seemed to be no other damage.

Raf and I walked across the bridge toward them. “So what do we do now?” I asked.

“I guess we both just keep going to wherever we were going”, one of them said with a slightly smug smile.

I was stunned. “What do you mean? You have just smashed up our car, and you nearly damn knocked us off the bridge,” I retorted.

“What are you talking about?” said the other guy. “You were on the wrong side of the road. We had to swerve to try and miss you!”

The dispute
My blood started to boil. As I was thinking about how to respond, Raf moved forward, shoulders hunched. He was clearly ready for a fight. I put my hand on his back and whispered that they were a lot bigger than us, and that we should let the police handle it.

“Okay, how about we all head into town and let the police sort this out,” I countered.

“Suit yourself. We’ll see you there. The station’s back in town.” They jumped into their car and sped off.

Raf and I pulled out the front guard using a tyre lever, tied the smashed door closed with some rope, brushed the broken glass off the road, and cautiously drove into town.

The police station
When we arrived at the police station, the two guys were chatting with the policeman in an uncomfortably friendly manner. He looked us up and down and asked to see my license.

As he scanned it suspiciously, I explained what had happened and how their dangerous driving had almost got Raf and me killed.

He looked up and said, “The problem here is that your account is different from theirs. They say you were on the wrong side of the road, driving erratically.”

Despite my retelling what had actually happened and insisting that we all go to the crash site so I could show him the skid marks from their car, the policeman shook his head and said it wouldn’t prove anything. He said it was my word against theirs and that there was nothing more he could do.

He handed my license back to me and suggested we be on our way. I’m sure I saw a sly glance pass between the three of them.

The let-down
At the bottom of the stairs outside the police station, I threw my license to the ground and shook my head in disgust.

My mind was swirling with angry thoughts about the injustice of what had happened. And because the car was now barely drivable and unroadworthy, this most certainly heralded the end of our road trip.

At that moment, my belief in the innate fairness of life started to dissolve. We had been raised to always tell the truth and do the right thing. Yet we were being punished for doing this.

The driver from the other car came down the stairs and, seeing my distress, clearly felt guilty. He slowly walked over and, with a look of shame, put out his hand and mumbled, “I’m really sorry mate.” He visibly winced as I told him what he could do with his apology.

I picked up my license and walked back to our car with Raf.

Father knows best
Dad always knew what to do in difficult situations, so we found a phone booth and called him. After listening to me rant about what had happened, he said calmly, “Okay, here’s what you should do.”

Dad was actually in the car repair business and explained that there are often old garages along the highway with mechanical workshops and wreckages out back that they use for spare parts.

He said it was possible that we might find someone who could fix the damage and replace the door, so we could continue our journey.

After the call, I looked at our smashed-up car and suggested to Raf that maybe we should just get it towed back to Melbourne to be repaired and hitchhike home. Raf had more faith and said we should push on and give dad’s idea a go.

The garage
So with the smashed door roped closed, we carefully drove out of town and onto the main highway toward Brisbane. About 20 minutes on, Raf pointed to an approaching garage and said, “Hey, that looks like the sort of place dad was talking about.”

I pulled in, and an old fellow with a hand-rolled cigarette hanging off his lip limped over. “Looks like you’ve had a bit of a scrape.”

“Yeah. Do you think this is fixable?” I asked.

“Let’s take a look out the back and see if there’s anything we can use”. We followed him around the side of the workshop to a yard with long grass scattered with rusty cars, bits of farm equipment and car parts of all shapes and sizes.

The waiting door
“Well, I’ll be”, he mumbled, scratching his head. Leaning against a fence post was a car door. But this was not just any car door.

It was a driver’s side door from a 1958 FE Holden Special. Orange with a chrome trim. And perfectly intact.

The three of us laughed in disbelief as we inspected the door. It was as if someone had deliberately placed it there as a present.

“Tell you what,” he said. “There’s a hotel down the road. You fellas go and get yourselves a meal and a drink, and I’ll have this sorted for you in a few hours.”

Sure enough, when we returned, the car was waiting as if nothing had happened. He had straightened out the guard, patched it with some filler and paint, and fitted the new door, which worked perfectly.

Raf and I looked at each other with a smile as he said, “How about we call it $100 even?”

Soon we were back on the road. And my faith in life didn’t just return; it was strengthened.

I won’t try to explain how this happened. All I can say is that these events occurred exactly as I have recalled them.

Over the next nine months, I had several adventures that would strengthen my faith in life and shape my future direction. But that’s another story.

Until next time, when things feel unfair, stay the course. There may be a lesson in there, and the story may still be unfolding.

Greg Nathan
Founder
Franchise Relationships Institute

P.S. My brother, Raf, suddenly passed away recently. He was an amazing person who had a big impact on my life. If you’re interested, Raf featured in an interesting tip I wrote a few years ago on the psychology of mentoring called An Ode to Elder Brothers and Sisters.