The Forklift Incident
Water Containers
Back in October of 2019, long before the Bullnose Garage channel existed, I was doing a favor for my in-laws. They’d found a couple of large industrial water tanks and five 55-gallon barrels listed on Craigslist — the kind you’d use for farming or rain catchment — and asked if I could go pick them up. The seller was local, and they lived out of town, so I agreed.
The tanks were huge. I don’t remember the exact dimensions, but only two would fit tightly in the bed of my ’85 F-150, and even then it was going to be a squeeze. I handled the communication, set up a pickup time, and made plans to meet the seller. My wife came with me to help out and coordinate with her folks.
We took both of our trucks: she drove the newer one, and I drove the ’85. The newer one had a carpeted bed mat, which would’ve made sliding the tanks around a pain. The ’85 still felt like a proper old work truck, and I figured it was better suited for the job anyway. Plus, I liked driving it.
The seller’s place was a sort of warehouse lot packed with solar panels, barrels, water tanks, and other stuff — not junk exactly, but definitely the kind of place you’d expect to find things being sold on Craigslist. He let us in through a gate, and I backed the ’85 up to the loading area. We loaded the barrels into the newer truck first, and my wife moved it out of the way while I positioned the ’85 for the tanks.
The seller seemed rushed. Kind of gruff, like he wanted to get us in and out quick. He had a forklift and didn’t waste any time — while I was off strapping down the barrels in the other truck, he went ahead and started loading the water tanks himself.
By the time I turned back around, both tanks were already in the bed of the ’85.
That Sickening Realization
Now, when I first walked back over, I noticed something wasn’t right. The seller casually mentioned that I might be able to close the tailgate now, because he “pushed them in far enough.” I immediately thought: No way. These tanks were too long for that. I even tried the tailgate — it wouldn’t shut without forcing it, and I had no intention of doing that. I planned to just leave it open and strap the tanks in.
As I walked up to the front of the bed to grab my straps, I saw it.
The entire front wall of the bed had been pushed forward — buckled inward from the force. The steel was deformed in multiple spots, with the imprints of the cage bars from the tank clearly visible. And worse still, the bed had been shoved so hard it actually dented the cab — right beneath the rear window.
My heart sank. My stomach turned. That was the moment everything hit me.
This wasn’t just a dent. This was the truck. The truck I spent months looking for — one that was straight, original, and clean. I didn’t want a project full of bodywork. I’m not a body guy. I wanted something solid that I could restore slowly, piece by piece. And in the span of a few seconds, this guy had wrecked one of the cleanest parts of the truck — the straight bed and cab.
I felt sick. Physically sick.
Bed Damage
The Shrug That Lit the Fire
I told the seller, “You damaged my truck.”
He looked at the damage, shrugged, and didn’t say much. I could tell he didn’t care. To him, it was just an old truck. Probably figured I’d be fine with it — just a beat-up ’80s Ford, right? He had no clue what this truck meant to me or what I planned to do with it.
Looking back, maybe I should’ve stood my ground right there. Maybe I should’ve told him calmly and firmly, “You did this. You need to make it right.” But at that moment, I just wanted to leave. I was flooded with frustration and disappointment, and I knew if I stayed, I’d lose my temper — and that’s not me.
So we paid him for the tanks, strapped them down, and left.
At home, we unloaded the tanks and I took a closer look. It was worse than I thought. The front panel of the bed was mangled. The cab was visibly dented. I started documenting everything — photos, videos, even measuring the spacing between the dents and matching them to the tank’s metal cage.
They lined up perfectly.
There was no doubt what caused it. None.
The Legal Grind
I called the seller to talk it out. At first, he acted reasonable — said he’d contact his insurance and asked for estimates, pictures, and a written statement. So I got quotes from two body shops. The lower of the two came in at $1,270.69.
I emailed everything to him.
A few days later, I followed up. He said he’d send the info to his insurance in “a few days.”
Another call. More excuses.
Then the tone changed. He started backpedaling:
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“That damage might’ve already been there.”
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“How do we know I caused it?”
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“I’ll have to get back to you.”
I saw it coming.
I’ve dealt with situations like this before. I knew it was time to get serious — and get organized.
So I did.
I documented everything down to the inch. The cage on the water tank matched the dents in the bed exactly. I wrote a full account while everything was fresh in my mind. I even paid for a legal service that could draft a formal demand letter — not a full lawyer, just something official-looking.
I sent it to him. Heard nothing back.
So I filed a claim in small claims court, paid the fee, and got ready for the next step. I had someone serve him with the paperwork… and by “someone,” I mean my dad, who pretended to be interested in a tank and handed him the court documents when the seller opened the gate. He wasn’t happy, but it was legal service. Done.
Mediation and Resolution
Before we could go to court, the system required us to try mediation. It was an online service where both sides could submit evidence and try to settle.
I submitted everything: my statement, the photos, the measurements — the whole nine yards.
I don’t know what happened on his end. But shortly afterward, I was informed that he’d submitted the repair estimate to his insurance — and they paid it.
No negotiation. No counter-offer. Just paid.
It was the best possible outcome short of him owning it on day one.
Turning Pain Into Progress
Bent Bed
Now I had a check and a damaged truck. Most people would’ve taken it straight to the body shop.
But this build is personal. I didn’t want to just outsource the fix — I wanted to try to handle it myself. Even though bodywork isn’t my thing, I figured maybe it was time to start learning.
Since the damage wasn’t affecting drivability, I used the money to buy a set of wheels and tires instead — something I’d been wanting anyway.
The plan is still to pull the bed, replace the front panel, and deal with the cab dent. If I can do it myself, great — that’s content and growth. If I can’t, that’s still a video, and I’ll take it to a pro. Either way, it becomes part of the build.
The Lesson
This project truck has already given me more stories than I can count — and I’m not even close to done. The good moments, the headaches, the gut punches — it’s all part of the experience.
At the time, this incident felt like a total loss. Now? It’s just another chapter in the journey.
And it’s a damn good one.