This is my inaugural
post about having accidents. And while technically my first accident was
probably pooping my pants as a toddler, this series will be restricted to
automobile accidents. I have had quite a few of these, but only a couple have
been my fault, including my first one that I will tell you about now.
Although I
was born in Alabama, I grew up in Louisville, Kentucky. That’s because my dad
got a job in Louisville when I was 2 ½ months old. I wanted to stay in Alabama,
but my parents thought I was too young to live on my own. I personally believe
they were just being overprotective. Anyway, when I was in high school, a
number of my friends and I loved to eat pizza at some of the local pizzerias.
At that time I considered pizza to be a late night snack rather than a meal.
The thought of eating pizza for lunch or dinner did not appeal to me at all. Of
course that all changed when my thin-as-a-rail body began to balloon and big
late night snacks became a No-No (not to be confused with the body hair removal
system).
Normally my
friends and I ate at the local pizzerias, but one night we ate at a Pizza Hut
located on Kenwood Dr. According to Google Maps, a Little Caesar’s is now located
there, keeping the pizza tradition alive. My Louisville friends will know that
the Pizza Hut we dined at was right next to Colonial Gardens, a well-known entertainment
complex. I just read recently that someone is planning to renovate this place.
That particular Pizza Hut had a parking area in the front and the back and some
parallel parking along the side. I had parked in the latter area, but was the
only car there when we arrived. Well, we were dining late as usual and actually
finished after they closed at 1:00 AM. An employee had to let us out as they
had already locked the door.
We all piled
in the car, and I cranked up the engine. I was planning to back up into the
empty parking area in the front so I could pull out onto Kenwood Dr. However, I
had failed to notice that a car was now parked behind me. I put the car into
reverse, with my foot on the brake of course, and looked into my rearview
mirror as I released my foot from the brake. Just then I noticed the car behind
me. I immediately went for the brake pedal again, but my foot slipped and jammed
the gas pedal instead. BAM! I hit the car parked behind me. HARD! I cursed my
stupidity and then got out to inspect the damage. There was not much damage to
the tank I was driving, but the other car’s hood was crumpled. They say that
when a car is rear-ended, it’s always the guy in the rear’s fault, but somehow
I didn’t think that would apply in this case, especially since the rear car didn't even have a driver.
Being the
responsible teenager that I was, I went to the entrance to Pizza Hut and
knocked. An employee yelled through the locked door, “WE’RE CLOSED!” I let him
know that I already knew that, but was looking for the owner of the car I just
hit. He checked around with the few remaining customers and all of them said
they were parked elsewhere. So, I started looking for some paper to write a
note on to leave on the windshield of the car. An observant customer at
Colonial Gardens, who was out on their porch, yelled out, “JUST GO AHEAD AND
LEAVE!” I laughed, but ignored his suggestion.
As I was
writing the note, three big tough-looking Mexican men came out of Pizza Hut and
informed me that that was their car. I began to sweat. I knew they could rough
us up good if they wanted to. I apologized profusely and explained my mistake
to them, hoping they would go easy on me. The guy who actually owned the car
went over to his hood and tried to open it. It wouldn’t budge. It had crumpled enough
to jam it in place. I apologized again. He just looked at me and said, “Oh,
what the f*ck!”
I told him
that I had insurance and it would cover his cost of repair. He told me that he
and his friends were from Michigan and were just in town temporarily for the
horse races at Churchill Downs. Since it was the weekend, I gave him my phone
number so he could call me on Monday after I contacted State Farm.
Monday
morning came, but my State Farm agent didn’t open until after school started.
So, I had to wait and go into school late after I talked to him. After
explaining to him everything that happened, he said, “Okay, well IF they call
you back, give him my number, and I will take care of everything.”
I thought, “What
does he mean by ‘IF they call…’?” Of course they’d call back. They’d want their
car fixed. But I didn’t say anything to the agent. I just said, “Okay.”
Well, as it
turned out, they did not call…for two weeks. I was a bit surprised. When I
received the call, the man asked if he could just get an estimate and have me
pay him directly. I said, “I can’t do that. I’ve already reported it to my
insurance agent and he will take care of everything. I have the number for you
to call.”
He said, “Wait
a minute. I need to get something to write with.” After several minutes, he
returned and took down the number.
I thought
everything was settled at that point, at least as far as I was concerned. But I
was wrong. About two more weeks later I got a call from the man again. He said
he had not contacted the State Farm agent and again wanted to know if I’d pay
him directly. I once again explained that I couldn’t do that. He’d have to get
paid by my insurance. And once again he took down my agent’s phone number.
As far as I
know, he never contacted the agent. I never got any notice about it, and my
rates never changed. It was then that I understood what my agent had meant by “IF
they call back…” Apparently he already suspected that something didn’t smell
right in the kitchen. Perhaps they were in the country illegally. Perhaps the
car was stolen. Perhaps they were allergic to insurance agents. Whatever it
was, they were unwilling to be put in the system by filing a claim with State
Farm. But that all worked in my favor, thank goodness!
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