That was close... too close...

So, upon heading out to my car this morning, I saw something on my windshield.

I went closer. It was a piece of paper.
Shit.
A little closer. Too large to be a ticket.
Whew!
I grab the paper.
It reads, "Can you please call me; you hit my front bumper. My number is blah blah blah, Thanks, Erick."

Fuck.
Fuck fuck fuck.

So I go home, get myself ready for work and head out, the whole time worrying about this note. I have to call him. Chances are if he wrote out a full note on blank computer paper, he got my license plate. Not calling would make everything worse. What if he's an extortionist? What if he saw the dent in my back bumper and decided he was going to try and milk some money out of me (not knowing that this cow is pretty dry)? What if I did hit him and cause damage? Should I just pay the guy what he wants? I can't pay to cosmetically fix my own car, let alone his! Should I just go to my insurance company, let them handle it and then charge me out the wazoo? I can't afford to lose my "good driver" status!

So I called him.
Just a little paint scratch. One of many for him. He was planning on repainting the bumper anyway. This has just been happening to him a lot since he moved to LA a year ago. He was very understanding and doesn't want anything from me. He just wanted me to know and to be more careful.
And I'm grateful.
And hugely relieved.
But at the same time, I can't help thinking,
"Welcome to LA, buddy. If this is the worst that happens to you, count yourself lucky."

But still... WHEW!