No Good Deed Ever Goes Unpunished

On my list of pet peeves, which list seems to grow longer all the time, one of the biggest is doing something nice for someone, then having them turn around and bite you in the butt for it. That's what happened this past week.

My idiot brother-in-law, B, has been having car problems. He bought a car a few months ago from a dealer in Bountiful under their "Fresh Start" program. It was of course a used car, and predictably, he's been having mechanical problems with it. Since his job requires him to travel as much as (or more than) mine does, he needed a car. And we happen to have three cars at the moment: Nancy's car, the Dreadnought, and Granny's car. So we lent him one. Twice. The first time there were no real problems. B agreed to help install a CD player in Granny's car in repayment, which he did last Saturday. The car was fixed, and he was able to pick it up from the dealer. So no problems...the first time.

A couple of days later, Nancy and I were visiting her Mom's house (yes, at the age of 30, B still lives at home) and noticed a puddle of some unidentified fluid under B's car. We made him aware of this, and he soon determined that the car had to go back to the dealer. I offered to let him use the Dreadnought until his car was fixed, for which he was grateful. We took him back home with us that night, and he took the Suburban back to his house. Again, so far, so good.

Nancy's Mom and sister went to visit family out of state, which is where the problems really started. B decided to borrow his Mom's car one day because he thought it might get better gas mileage. (Her car is also a Suburban, but a newer one.) The problem was that Mom had told him not to use her car because it had been having mechanical problems. Sure enough, it broke down in Parley's Canyon. B got a ride back to Salt Lake, then had a bit of inspiration: he could tow Mom's Suburban back to town with ours.

I would have been okay with that—if he had thought to ask if I was okay with it. But he just assumed it was okay—hey, he had the car, right?—and did it, and told us about it later. That bugged me a little and Nancy a lot. We talked to B about making sure to talk to us before doing anything out of the ordinary with our vehicle(s). We thought he heard and understood. He proved later that he did not.

Yesterday at work, Nancy got a call from B asking if she could take him up to Bountiful to pick up his car. Nancy was almost done with her lunch break, and even if she had only been starting, there's no way to get from her office to Bountiful and back in an hour. So she told him she couldn't do it then, but she'd be willing to do it after she got off work. B was apparently feeling impatient and asked about going to get his car and leaving the Dreadnought up there, to be picked up later. Nancy said (correctly) that I wouldn't want him to do that. He tried to talk her into it, but she refused to relent. Finally he just said he'd call her back later once he'd figured out what to do.

Fast forward to dinner last night at the Blue Plate Diner. We left to pick up some milk and other supplies at the local big box store. On the way, Nancy talked to her Mom on the phone. And her Mom mentioned that B had talked to her earlier and told her he'd got his car back. Nancy asked how he had done it. Guess what...B had, against Nancy's express instructions, picked up his car and left the Dreadnought sitting in a used car lot in Bountiful.

A phone call from myself to B quickly ensued:

B: Hello?
Me: Hello, B?
B: Hey, what's going on?
Me: B, where is my car?
B: [stunned silence] Huh?
Me: Where is my car?
B: [more stunned silence] Are you here?
Me: No, I'm not there. Where is my car?
B: Uh...
Me: Are you currently in possession of my car, or not? Because if you are not in possession of my car, we have a big problem.

I told him that I was upset at what he'd done and that he needed to have the Dreadnought back in our driveway by the time I got home from school the following day. He said that wasn't going to happen because...well, I don't know why it wasn't going to happen, because I cut him off and told him I didn't care what he had to do, he needed to get my car back to me if he wasn't using it. The conversation went on this way for another half-minute or so, until B hung up on me.

To his rather limited credit, B did call back. Eventually. When the phone rang and I saw who it was, I handed the phone to Nancy because I was too infuriated to talk to him. I heard her half of the conversation for the next 10-15 minutes, but I heard enough to pick up on his approach. He was making all kinds of excuses, such as "I have to go to Provo tomorrow and it's too expensive to take his car" and "I'm losing money on gas" and "Why does he (meaning me) have to be so rude and belligerent?" Nancy let him have it, and rightfully so, I thought, telling him how we felt he'd used us and lied to us. What it really came down to, she told him, was his selfishness and his lack of respect for us and for our property. And I agreed with that. The problem wasn't just that he'd left our car somewhere that he couldn't be responsible for it; it's that he'd done it after Nancy specifically told him not to do it—because it was more convenient for him.

As the conversation dragged on, I could tell that he was starting to understand our point (or maybe he was just starting to act like he was). I heard talk about "making things right". Finally Nancy handed the phone to me. I told him, "B, if you're really serious about making things right, you need to get that car back to me tomorrow. It doesn't need to be there by 4:00 (as I had initially insisted), but it needs to be back in our driveway tomorrow with at least as much gas as it had when you borrowed it. And I need a real apology from you. If you're serious about making things right, that's what needs to happen. If you can't manage that, then I expect you and I've not got a lot to talk about." And then I returned the favor from earlier and hung up on him.

What I expect will happen is this: B will roll in with the car late tonight, around 9:30 or 10:00. He'll make some cursory, transparent apology and immediately go into all the reasons and justifications for why he really didn't do anything wrong and why all of this is ultimately our fault and want to talk about it for half an hour (or until we agree that he's right). And I'll tell him I'm not interested in listening to his lame, self-righteous excuse for an apology. I'll thank him for getting the car back to us and send him on his way. Total conversation time will top out at just under a minute, I expect.

Either that, or he just won't show up tonight. There's a part of me that tells me that's really what's gong to happen, and that I'm going to have to put my life on hold for a couple of hours at some point and go get the car myself. If that's the case, he'd better not have left anything in the car that he doesn't mind being left unattended in a used car lot in Bountiful. Nos operor non fio iratus, nos pondera libra and all that.

This is the most frustrated I've felt in a long, long time. Frick.

You know what the worst part of this is? As I finished teaching the Priesthood lesson on Sunday, I took a look at what I'd be teaching next month. Imagine my joy as I recalled last night the title of chapter nine of Teachings of Presidents of the Church: Spencer W. Kimball: "Forgiving Others with All Our Hearts". And that reminded me of the following wisdom from the Doctrine and Covenants:

Wherefore, I say unto you, that ye ought to forgive one another; for he that forgiveth not his brother his trespasses standeth condemned before the Lord; for there remaineth in him the greater sin.
I, the Lord, will forgive whom I will forgive, but of you it is required to forgive all men.
(Doctrine and Covenants 64:9-10)

Frick on a stick.