Fender Bender

I was awakened from a slumber by my good neighbor phoning me one afternoon last summer.  “You need to come out front.” – Now, one thing that I am sure of is that mid-day summertime naps are of utmost importance.  The invitation to leave a warm bed to come outside for whatever it was that I “needed” to be a part of fell on less than favorable ears. 

I stumbled around and found some flip flops, tumbled down the stairs and went out front.  A cargo van was parked in front of my car and broken pieces of race car red plastic was strewn around the back end of my car, which was parked on the street.  I’m not a quick study, especially when coming out of a sleepy fog…..So, I wasn’t making the connection between the cargo van and the plastic sprinkles on the street until I rounded the back end of the car and saw a swipe of white paint across the quarter panel and bumper, a dent and what was left of the tail light.  The Hot Tamale had been clipped! – (A friend named my car the Hot Tamale a number of years ago when I two-wheeled it around the corner and she saw it for the first time.)

Luckily for me, my good neighbor had been a witness to the whole incident.  The driver of the cargo van was still sitting inside the van, even after my neighbor had stomped up there to say, “Are you going to get out?  You hit that car.” or something to that effect.  I like living next to a Neighborhood Watch participant who has tenacity and a willingness to face danger head on. I live in fear, and would have probably let the guy drive off.  Thank you, neighbor!

I surmised that the damage was minimal and wasn’t too worried.  The cargo van driver stumbled out of the van.  He was unharmed and his white cargo van had a nice red stripe on the back quarter panel, thanks to the Hot Tamale. 

And so began my multi-week frustration with an automobile insurance company.  As luck would have it, there was some “question” as to whether the driver of the cargo van was currently covered under the policy.  What did that mean exactly?  Surely issuing a policy to a driver didn’t mean they “might” be covered.  They would have to do some “research”, whatever that meant, and get back to me.  After four days pass you can imagine my level of irritation is at an all time high.  Never fear, though. The Hot Tamale was drivable and I zipped all over town in that thing. 

As luck would have it, I learned that the cargo van driver was not covered by the policy via my cell phone as I was at the airport ready to board a flight to the desert to soak up the sun once again.  (It is all about R&R, people) A slight glitch in things, which were to be compounded by being 1,000 miles from home.  Apparently the cargo van driver was insured, but by another company.  More days of waiting for a response from the driver to learn who the lucky insurance company was that was about to hear from me regarding the slight fender bender.

After several phone calls with escalated tones, mostly mine, an insurance adjuster stopped by my house to examine the vehicle and write up a claim once I swooped back in from being in the desert for a week.  Good, good!  We were getting somewhere.   During this time I had been in consultation with a few of my neighbors to ascertain what their thoughts were about just pocketing the cash and leaving the car with its new signature for all of eternity.  There were mixed reviews to the proposal, but in the end I did just that.  I stuffed that check in my pocket and stomped to the bank.  Five months later I was on a plane to sunny Cancun with the cargo van driver’s insurance money.  The good news?  I can always tell which red car is mine in a parking lot.  I just look for the white swipe of paint and the smashed tail light.  See, things always work out.