Friday started out normal enough. Drive to work, answer some calls, write a few emails, drive to the jobsite. Half the expected contractors don’t show up, drive back to the office in time to have lunch with my lovely wife at her office one mile away.
After lunch I planned to go back to my office, finish up some paperwork, read some older posts on my new favorite blogs, and do some more research on this fucking tweeting thing (I know it’s not new but since I find facebook repulsive, I decided to finally look into it–OK? I mean, I’m not so old that I reject new technology…I said I know it’s not new, fuck!)
Anyway, I’m on my way back to my office after lunch. I’m waiting in the left-hand turn lane for the magical green arrow that ensures my dominance over the intersection. It points a green finger, I drive. There’s a guy coming from the other direction looking to turn right on to the same street I’m turning on. I know he’s got a red light, so of course he’s going to stop and not just make his turn and drive his car into mine. Fucking shitstain hits me. Now I’m not married to my car and I don’t obsess over it. People make mistakes. I’m cool. We’ll work this out.
Maybe not this time.
I stop my car but he drives on, like nothing happened. What the fuck? Now I’m a little pissed but maybe he’s looking for a better spot to pull over. I’m cool. I pull up behind him and we wait for the next light to turn green. When it does he drives through the intersection AND KEEPS ON GOING! Fuck me in the ear! Now I’m One-Adam-fucking -12, in pursuit of a shitstain dirtbag. I’m a race car in the fuckin red. I’m honking my horn and pointing to the right. He keeps looking at me in his rear-view mirror. He pulls up to a stop sign and pulls over to the side. Finally! I stop my car and open the door to get his information and as soon as I step out of the car, he drives off again! I’m turning into Superfly T.N.T. now and as I jump back into my car I remember I need to get this fucker’s license plate number but I can’t remember shit for 5 minutes and I can’t find a pen so I grab my phone and try to get the camera on. This guy just wants away from me now and he’s running and I can’t get the camera to work so I switch over to the voice recorder and scream out the license plate and car color and make “BLUE HONDA, 954-VKN!” I’m still honking and pointing and since my phone is on bluetooth I am now screaming 911! at my dashboard.
At every stop sign more and more cars get between us. The 911 dispatch tells me to stop pursuit and pull over and wait for Seattle Police to come and take a statement.
As I wait I survey the yet unseen damage and imagine my week old copstache will help me bond with the cop that shows up and he’ll take some paint samples off my car, find the asshole responsible and club him to death.
An hour later I get a call that nobody’s coming and they’ll call later and take a statement on the phone. Fuck.
I go back to work and wait. I call the insurance company and give them a statement. They assure me they will fix my car. It will cost me the $500 deductible. Fuck Fuck Fuck. They said in their experience the cops will do nothing but take a statement since there were no injuries. And my insurance premiums will probably increase…
Fuck me. My neck hurts.