It Was An Accident: Part 4 – Someone’s Handicapped Friend

One afternoon I was driving west on Cox Creek Parkway and was stopped by the light at Helton Drive. Soon the light turned green, and the cars ahead of me started to move. I let my foot off the brake, then suddenly, BAM! I was rear-ended hard. So hard, in fact, I was driven forward enough to read-end the car in front of me. It was a three car pileup, if you will. I was jolted about enough to be disoriented for a few minutes. You might say I was sent for a ride on the Disorient Express.

Before I had totally come to myself there was a knock at my window. I rolled the window down. Some guy was there asking me if I was okay. I said I thought I was. When he apologized, I just assumed he was the guy who had hit me. But then he went on to say, “I was following my handicapped friend and he lost control of his vehicle.” I acknowledged his statement, but I was still not comprehending everything very well. The guy left. I looked back and saw a customized van behind me with a strange looking man sitting in the driver’s seat with his eyes wide. The man who had checked on me went to a car behind the van. Given the friend’s comments, I just assumed that the man driving the van did not get out because he was handicapped in some way.

When I came to myself, I looked at myself and said, “Why don’t you call the police?”

I responded to myself, “Good idea!”

However, that was easier said than done as I could not find my cell phone. After a bit of looking I found it on the floor bed near the pedals. It had apparently been slung down there when my car was double whammied rear and front. I grabbed it up and dialed 911, although technically I didn’t dial, I pushed some buttons. Ah, those outmoded terms!

As I was talking to the responder, I looked up and saw my wife, Kathy, passing me in her vehicle. When she saw me, she made her way to the side of the road so she could come over to check on me. I had intended to go back and check on the handicapped driver who hit me, but by the time I finished with the phone call, Kathy was there checking on me. When she saw I was okay, she went back to check on the man in the van. She said he seemed scared, but was otherwise okay. Soon afterwards a man and a woman from the car in front of me came back to talk to Kathy and me.

By this time I was able to get out and stand. I found out that the couple from the car I had rear-ended in front of me were from Tennessee and had just gotten married and were in Florence as part of their honeymoon. The couple appeared to be in their late 30’s or early 40’s. The lady kept going on and on about all the troubles she had seen in her life. Have you ever noticed how some people seem to enjoy talking about the lack of joy in their lives? This was one of those people. Maybe if she had talked about the times she had talked to others about her lack of joy that would have cheered her up. Oh, well. As we continued to talk, I looked back and realized that the customized van that had hit me was no longer behind me. I looked around and saw that he had pulled off to the side of the road. For an accident of this magnitude I knew he shouldn’t have done that, but I guessed it would be okay.

The couple, my wife, and I continued to talk. We found out they had State Farm insurance, which was good since that was what I had. That would make it easier when sorting out the repair costs. A little later I looked over and realized that the van was now totally gone. That wascally wabbit had snuck off right under our noses and was nowhere to be found. What should have been a simple rear-ending had now turned into a hit-and-run.

Soon afterwards the police arrived. I explained exactly what had happened and described the van as best I could while Kathy described the driver. Since the van was customized, I thought that would make it easier for the police to find, but I was actually informed that without the tag number it would be difficult to locate. Basically, it would take too much manpower to search out the van given the lack of human suffering that had resulted from the accident.

Well, anyway, the police officer completed taking our reports, the couple and I exchanged information, and we went on our not-so-merry way. The front of my car was not damaged too badly, but the rear end was crunched up a lot. But it wasn’t so bad that I couldn’t drive it. I took it over to the dealership where I had bought it so they could determine the cost of repairs.

I would dearly love to tell you that the customized van and its driver was caught and brought to justice. Actually, I could tell you that, but I’d be lying. The good news, however, is that our insurance covered everything and all remained well in the hood. Or should I say under the hood. Well, actually, more so in the trunk. State Farm took care of the couple’s car also. But neither I nor my car could foresee what was going to happen just two weeks after the repairs were complete. Tune in to my next post to find out.

It Was An Accident: Part 1 - My First One

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!