For those of you who enjoyed my brush with the law and ensuing speeding ticket, that confession wasn’t the end. While losing a clean 17-year driving record was traumatic, the ticket was easy to divulge. What I didn’t tell was that September brought another hit . . . literally. (State Farm knows all about this one.)
It was an ordinary week day. I was out running errands — driving the posted speed limit or below — and stopped by Sterling Municipal Library to turn in some books BEFORE they were due. I’m a rule-follower like that. I secured a parking spot where there weren’t many other cars and took care of my business in mere minutes.
I’m not sure whether I noticed before, or if it occurred to me afterwards, but it was a dreary day outside – one of those days when one wouldn’t notice much color because the sky was a blanket of gray. At any rate, I got in my tank (Chevy Suburban), started it, looked back, checked mirrors, etc. like I have always done, put it in reverse, backed up, and CRUNCH!
See, a CRASH would have sounded as such, but since I was moving slower than a snail’s pace CRUNCH was the exact sound I heard. My initial thought was, “What in the heck?” as I knew there was nothing behind me. I pulled forward a tiny bit and got out to inspect. Imagine my surprise in finding a fairly new light-grayish silver Cadillac with a hideous depression shaped like my bumper. When I do things, I do them up right! (Incidentally, my bumper sustained a mere scratch.)
Stunned, I pulled back into the parking spot and wondered where in the world that car came from. It wasn’t there when I looked, or was it? Sheesh! I’ve got enough on my plate to worry about these days to have my visual perception playing tricks on me! Of course the car was there, but from the on-high perch of the Chevy Suburban and against the gray-sky backdrop it was camouflaged and stealthy.
It had been over 20 years since I was to blame for any insurance claims. I didn’t know what to do. The car was unoccupied, so no personal injuries there. I checked myself . . . all was intact save for my ego. I needed to get in touch with the owner, but I was at the quietest place on Earth. Dare I waltz into such a serene place and announce I’d hit someone’s car? Sit and wait for the owner? What if the owner was a large goon easily angered? Plagued by indecision, I called State Farm.
A true angel on Earth, Maxine at Ken Mitchell’s State Farm office, answered. Ugh! I didn’t want to tell her what I’d done, but did so and asked what to do. She was so sweet and lifted me from the pit of idiocy. “We have a sign here in the office that says ‘Life Happens’”, she said, and I could tell she was smiling or possibly laughing at my expense. She went on to praise my honesty and reported many drivers in the same predicament just drive away. I’ve been on the receiving end of such treatment; it feels pretty crummy.
I did as instructed and left a note on the car with contact information and stated the “accident” had been duly reported. My hands were shaky as I wrote. I know the owner was able to make out the phone number as I’ve received confirmation that my insurer settled the claim. But I also hope they were able to read my apology, because if my eyes did not deceive me (again), they were without a car for a few days. If it’s any consolation, I was without my pride, too.
© 2009 Natalie Whatley