So today I was sitting at a stop light on the way back from lunch. I was in the left turn lane waiting to turn, sitting behind a transport truck… when another transport truck rear-ended me. Bump-bump. After the first hit I looked in the rearview and freaked when all I could see was grill. Especially since I had visions of being sandwiched between two transports.
Couldn’t really do anything at the time, so I waited for the light to change and pulled over at the first available spot – ironically into the Waterloo Regional Police Headquarters parking lot. I got out of the car and looked out at the road… just in time to see the truck going by, and not stopping. Splendid. He was too far ahead for me to see the name on the cab doors, and the trailer was unmarked. I was too far away for a licence plate number. (He’d honked after he hit me, so I knew he knew.)
Fortunately, the physical damage amounted to only some new scratches on my bumper. I did worse loading my mountain bike last summer. However, I called my insurance company when I got back to work, and filed a hit and run report with the police after work. Why? Because now if something goes pear-shaped with my car in the next little while, I’m covered. I can make an insurance claim, and it gets filed as a collision claim under hit-and-run. I don’t lose points, I don’t have to pay for it (other than the deductible), and my rates don’t go up. Conscientious, no? Also experience. Several years ago when I had my old car still, a transport hit it in the parking lot at Descartes (it was parked). In addition to denting the trunk, he also ruptured the fuel line and did $600-700 of other damage that wasn’t to the body. Whee!
My family’s reactions to the accident were entertaining. My brother blamed it on terrorists. My Dad started with his usual hypothesizing and theorizing about how I could have been safer or avoided it, until I started hollering, “I was stopped! At a stop sign! Sandwiched between two rigs! Not moving! IT COULD NOT HAVE BEEN LESS MY FAULT!” Ahh well… Dads. Whaddaya do. Hell, when I get up to my parents’ place tomorrow night I guarantee Murray will be out inspecting every square inch of the car within seconds, and will, of course, grease it stem to stern. And probably inject turkey fat at the new scratches… after examining them under a high-powered lamp of some kind… My father could simply not have existed in a time before there were cars. And on the note of family, I am MOST DISPLEASED that having a father who was a truck driver and a brother who is currently a truck driver has had NO EFFECT WHATSOEVER in keeping my vehicles safe from large trucks. Hmph.
To add insult to injury, what I thought was roasted eggplant in my panini at lunch turned out to be portobello mushroom. I ate most of it. Ew. As proof of how hard it is to get me worked up now, it was a toss up between the car accident and the mushroom as to which was worse. The chipotle potato salad and the latte were divine, though. I am so happy there is a GOOD place to get food in our neighbourhood… I will just have to make Mark and Rob drive there…
To add even more insult, a new batch of volunteers has just started at the Humane Society. Lotta families this time, parents and kids. People wandering around with no idea what to do. People who can’t do things cuz the kids are too young. No one knows where anything is or goes. People asking me questions. People asking the staff questions. People trying to find kennel keys. Staff trying to deal with customers, volunteers, and animal care… Oy-freaking-vey.
However, like a gift from the gods, a package from Dana arrived, containing rootbeer cookies (don’t ask) and a kilo-size bag of Cadbury Mini Eggs. And the angels of PMS REJOICED. And the king of all understatement said, “How very kind”. Heh.
However, there may be a new Cheesedoodle on the horizon. ‘Cept he’s more of a harlequin… Stay tuned…