The Cobalt Returns

My fiery-red auto-machine is back in my possession. She looks brand new—cleaner and shinier than she has been in a long time. Two weeks ago, I was involved in a relatively tame auto accident. A woman was crossing two lanes of traffic to try to get into my empty lane (empty other than me). I hit my brakes, but it was impossible to avoid an accident as I was a car length or less away when she entered my lane. She scraped across my entire driver’s side and pressed my car against the curb scraping my hubcaps down into tiny smooth saucers. No one was injured and thus the police refused to show up to file a report (to serve and protect? That’s still the slogan, right? Shall we change it to Ticket and Harass?). Everything seemed in order until I learned from her insurance that she was lying to them—claiming I pulled into her lane, hit her, and then ran myself into the curb. There were many witnesses to the accident, but no one stopped. Thus, the only available witness is Erika, my passenger, a non-biased party. Since then, I have taken numerous photos of the skid-marks, attempted to find witnesses at the nearby school, drawn a map for my insurance, and plead my case based on the photographic evidence of the car. I am awaiting the insurance’s decision of whether to go to arbitration. If they do not, my adjuster will have to endure a long rant from me and the bitch that caused all of this will see me in small claim’s court. On the upside, my car is back on the road.

Advice from future me to past me: When in an accident, always tell the police you are injured. When they arrive at the scene, tell them you are feeling better, “it must have been from the shock. Will you write a report now, please?””


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