Garage
Every morning was a anxious, chaotic rush during my senior year in high school. Underslept and malnourished I'd speed across town, making it to homeroom in time to bash out the busywork I should have done the night before. Also, as the third child I was granted a long series of random near-death hand-me-down cars from parents and elder siblings. I just recently was granted a giant, clumsy Thunderbird and hadn't gotten used to its bloated size and inaccurate steering.
One morning my high-strung lack of focus finally bit me in the ass. As I was backing out of the house at unsafe speed I swerved way too early and thus rammed the front of the big stupid Thunderbird into the side of the garage. BAM! Shocked by my stupidity and the sudden grave situation I parked, ran upstairs, and yelled to my mom through the bathroom door, "I just destroyed the garage!" Then I fled to school.
Now here's the thing. My dad built the entire three-car garage the previous summer. By himself. Of course I would've and should've helped him but I couldn't because I broke my foot and was out of commission during construction. I watched helplessly from the bedroom window as my dad cleverly lifted giant joists into place as a solo operation using long 2x4s. The whole structure was a rather impressive feat of engineering, and now I just fucked it up.
And here's another thing. My dad worked at the same high school I attended. So after arriving late for homeroom I spend the whole morning avoiding him, knowing full well my mom probably called his office to let him know what's up.
I snuck off campus during lunchtime to drive back home and further survey the damage. It was pretty bad - the whole wall was knocked clear off the foundation. I actually tried to lift it back into place, praying for those mythical bursts of adrenaline that allow elderly farmers to lift whole tractors off their grandchildren. No dice. As well I looked like I took out the guide rail such that the garage door cannot close anymore. Fuckin' awesome.
I didn't see either of my folks until after school when I heard my dad pull up and walk slowly towards my bedroom. He peered into the door and said, quite simply, "give me the keys." I gladly did so. In fact I might have also said, "please take them." He disappeared for a half hour, only to return and hand me back the keys, acknowledging that it would be more of a punishment to him to have to schlep me to all my rehearsals and other activities. "But," he said, "you're paying for it."
I ended up being pretty lucky on two fronts. First, with some borrowed jacks we were actually able to lift the dislodged wall back into place without too much ado. Second, turns out there's a guy in town who collects a bunch of garage door guide rails and we bought a replacement on the cheap from the stash he had in his shed. Other than that it was just bolstering the frame and replacing a few shingles. I think the whole bill came to under $200.