Smash Crash

Friday night, Andrew and I went out to get ice cream. And by “ice cream,” I mean “frozen custard.” While our delicious frosty treats were being prepared, I heard this awful crunchy metal-scraping noise. “Oh,” I said. “What was that? Sounds like something just got hit.” And hooray! It was my car that got hit. (Perhaps that was karma’s way of letting me know I shouldn’t have gone out for dessert in the first place?)

This idiot—I mean guy—was backing out of his parking space, and instead of turning the wheel, he elected to back straight up into my rear bumper. Whoops! Now I understand that accidents happen, but what really ticked me off was the way this guy was not even a little apologetic about the whole thing. I think that perhaps if we hadn’t been right there, he may have considered driving off without leaving a note. I might not be giving him enough credit, but bear with me, I’m a victim here! He said his power steering was out, so he decided to back into the spaces behind him and he didn’t see my car. Of course you can’t see something if you aren’t looking for it. Grrrrr.

We’ve been talking to the insurance peeps, and he admitted fault, so his insurance will cover it. They will even give me a rental car. I just have to take the car in to an approved body shop and get it done. What a pain. I wish the insurance company would also reimburse me for my time, you know?