I witnessed a hit-and-run accident on Memorial Day.

A young, Asian woman drove into our parking lot and crashed into a neighbor's motorcycle. I was standing in my kitchen window when it happened and heard the resounding crunch of metal hitting pavement.

The driver parked her white Honda Accord into an adjacent spot and got out to survey the damage. After ascertaining that the bike she'd hit was indeed mangled, the driver glanced around then returned to her own car.

I watched in disbelief as she drove away.

In response, I memorized her car's make and model and wrote down the license plate number. A part of me hoped the errant driver would change her mind and take responsibility for her actions, but alas, she never returned.

I called the police, filed a report and left a note on my neighbor's door. My boyfriend grabbed his digital camera and took pictures of the damaged motorcycle so the owner could file a claim with his insurance company.

Unless the hit-and-run driver gets stopped by the police for speeding or running a red light, she probably won't be charged with leaving the scene of an accident. Eventually the insurance companies will catch up with her, though, and she'll be made to pay for her misdeeds.

Back in my apartment, I reflected on this event. I was tempted to adopt a cynical point of view, one that would label all drivers as a bunch of inconsiderate jerks. After all, this was not the first hit-and-run accident I'd experienced.

When I was 18, I accidentally hit another car. I was pulling out of a crowded shopping mall parking lot, turned my wheel too soon and struck the Mercedes parked in the spot next to mine. A silvery white streak marked where my 1983 Oldsmobile Cutlass Ciera had scraped against the side of the parked car.

Horrified by the damage I'd inadvertently caused, I waited for 15 minutes then scribbled a note of apology. I also left my name and phone number with a promise to pay for the damage once the extent of it had been assessed.

The Mercedes owner called later that day and slapped me with a $375 bill. Apparently her dealer's mechanic needed to pound out the metal and repaint it with a special coating. I was a poor college student, but I wrote her a check and put in double shifts at my job to pay for the chunk it took out of my savings.

I never regretted my decision to notify the owner, and the whole experience made me more attentive whenever I pulled out of tight parking spots.

A year later, I traded in the brown junker and bought my very first new car. It had less than 100 miles on the odometer when I drove it off the lot. I was thrilled to be the owner of such a luxurious vehicle. (It was nothing fancy really, just a 1993 Ford Escort, but it was mine!)

That night, I parked it inside a secured parking garage near my job. The lot outside was more affordable, but I wasn't quite ready to entrust my new mode of transportation to the elements. When I left work nine hours later, I saw that my car had been involved in a hit-and-run accident. Less than 24 hours in my possession, someone had driven into the driver-side door, smashing it in.

My immediate reaction was to start bawling. I later received some excellent advice from an older acquaintance who reminded me that a car was nothing to cry about. It was just an object, a way to get from one place to another.

He also said that if I believed in karma, the driver who caused the damage to my car would eventually get what he deserved. Hearing this, I was able to pull myself together. And when my Escort returned from the auto body shop, it was good as new.

The hit-and-run accident I witnessed today was disheartening. I even spied the guilty expression on the irresponsible driver's face as she drove away. But I also experienced a few moments of neighborly concern and gratitude.

As my boyfriend and I waited for the police to arrive, three other women walking by commented on the overturned motorcycle. They were thrilled to hear that the authorities were on the way, and said they hoped the driver who'd left the scene of the accident would be punished. I suspect if they'd been in her shoes, they would have owned up to their responsibilities.

The Seattle Police Department responded to my 9-1-1 call by sending a patrol car to our address. The officer arrived within 15 minutes, and was both efficient and polite. Once she completed her report, she gave me a business card and a case number for my neighbor to use in dealing with his insurance company.

When the motorcycle's owner found the note about his mangled bike, he thanked us for taking the time to photograph the scene and for filing a police report. If the situation was ever reversed, I imagine he'd be just as vigilant.

Although it would be easy to become jaded about our hit-and-run world, I recognize that not all drivers are reckless and inconsiderate. I also believe that a community of good, honest citizens can cancel out the inappropriate actions of a few bad apples.