TheBanyanTree: A Typical Accident

[Monique Colver]

So there we were in our seafoam green Thunderbird, a car which is often the
subject of debates. Is it blue? Is it green? It's SEAFOAM GREEN, I tell
people, that's the official name of the color, but does anyone listen to me?
Noooooo. So anyway, we were pulling into a parking lot at my favorite
computer store. It's in a strip mall (and I have questions about that, but
we can discuss that later), and there are several other businesses there. A
teriyaki place, because, well, number one, it's a strip mall, and number
two, what kind of strip mall doesn't have a teriyaki place? A florist. A
nail salon. A check cashing place, which sits on the end because it saves
the desperate people the trouble of going any farther.
	(Speaking of desperate people, I must digress. Last night we went
out to eat at a fairly nice restaurant, the kind of place that turns one's
leftovers into foil swans and doesn't serve the food wrapped in paper. It
sits on a smallish lake, with a view of the smallish lake out of big
windows. There's nothing on either side of it, it sits alone on that stretch
of road, so anyone who turns into that parking lot has only one destination.
We pulled up and got out of the car into the rain. Standing in front of the
restaurant was a large slightly bedraggled man who immediately approached us
asking if we had any spare change. "I'm hungry," he said, "and I have
diabetes." Well, that's just sad, isn't it? I mean, really. My husband felt
the urge to say to him, "I'm diabetic too, and I need to go eat," but he
didn't, and instead we brushed past him and into the restaurant. How cold
and callous of us, you say in tones of disgust, letting the poor man go
hungry. We have no defense. He smelled of alcohol, as if he'd just emerged
from the restaurant's bar, which was probably why he had no money for food.
We thought about what sort of hungry diabetic person would go out of their
way to panhandle in front of Emory's. If he'd been in front of, say,
McDonald's, we'd have been inclined to buy him a #2, or a #7, or whatever,
and hand it to him so he wouldn't starve. But he'd been in front of Emory's.
Should we have gone in and bought him a steak, and then thrown it out the
door at him? I don't think so. We were only eating there ourselves because
we had a $20 off coupon, which had no provision for an extra meal for a
hungry diabetic. Desperate hungry people should stand outside of places
where food is cheap, that's what I think.)
	Anyway, back to the check cashing place, where our car is in
suspended animation through that digression. My husband is driving, and we
notice a large white panel truck parked in front of the check cashing place
(which is its own brand of evil, but that would require another digression).
We then notice, as we're driving by the back of the big white panel truck,
that it's started to back up. Since that's where we are, I give out one of
my famous girlie shrieks, which has absolutely no effect on the truck.
Andrew stops the car thinking that if he continues, I'm going to get
smashed, and that's something we try to avoid. He intends to back up, but
before that's possible, the truck, which has started turning as it leaves
the parking space, crashes into our right front fender. 
	Big white truck 1, medium sized car 0. 
	Two guys get out of the truck as we pull in to a parking space.
They're young, and they look confused. I don't know why. Truck hits car, car
unhappy. They're Russian. Or at least they sound Russian. One of them sounds
so Russian he speaks no English, and he soon gets back in the truck. The
other one, Alex, tells us he'd like to just pay for the damage and not go
through his insurance. We say, uh uh, we'll see, and Andrew collects his
information. His insurance information, his green card, things like that. My
friends from the computer store come out to see the poor little car. We tell
him we'll be in touch.
	Andrew gets an estimate that day. He can do that, since it's his day
off. One place says 3k, another says just over 2k. Oh my, we say, that's
quite significant, considering I only paid 5k for the car in the first
place. That was before the new engine however, which effectively doubled its
value. The next day Andrew calls Alex's insurance carrier. He's told, in no
uncertain terms, that Alex's insurance was cancelled six months ago. Well.
Isn't this predictable? I'm never hit by people who have insurance. It's
sort of a tradition. 
	Andrew tries to call Alex and gets some guy who says he never heard
of Alex. Since the guy answering the phone has a heavy Russian accent we
suspect he's not telling the whole truth. I'm not trying to say that all
Russians have heard of each other, that'd just be silly, but why would Alex
give us the phone number of another Russian? 
	We try another number Alex gave us. No answer. Over the next couple
of days we're unsuccessful in reaching Alex. Since he knows the number we're
calling from by now I try calling him on my phone. The phone is answered,
and a guy with a heavy Russian accent again says he doesn't know an Alex.
He's quite insistent. 
	Right after we hang up my phone rings, and I can see from the caller
ID it's the number that we just called. We answer, and there's a click. 
	We call it back and ask for Alex. Same Russian guy with an accent
says we have the wrong number, there's no Alex. "Then why did you just call
us back?" we ask. Suddenly he knows no English at all. 
	We give up on Alex. By this time we've contacted my insurance
company and filed a claim. The car's not really drivable in its current
state, something about a cam. 
	Then Alex leaves us a voicemail to call him. He says he just got
back from Eastern Washington, where he's been for days.
	We don't. We've given up on Alex, State Farm can deal with him.
That's what I pay them for. 
	State Farm gets back to us and says that Alex denies there was an
accident at all. Alex, it seems, has never heard of us, has no idea what
we're talking about. He never saw a car, he never hit a car, we must be
crazy. 
	Oooookaaayy. I'll buy that. We smashed the car ourselves and then
somehow obtained all his information. Makes sense.
	Two days later Alex leaves Andrew another voicemail, asking him to
call back about the accident.
	What accident?
	Apparently Alex hasn't heard of the wonderful thing called message
forwarding, which allowed us to forward his message to our insurance
company. We also gave them his address. His green card number.
	And we get the car fixed next week. End of story. 
	But why can't ever get run into by someone WITH insurance?

Monique