Here’s how the craziest conversation I’ve had in a long time went yesterday–
[Indifferent, Frustrated, Redneck Woman] Where did I hit your car?
[Still Shaking Me] Right there (We’re still in our cars, she’s tried to drive away and I’ve tracked her through the parking lot).
[IFRW] That? It’s nothing. I barely tapped you.
[SSM] The wheel and back panel are a mess. You may have messed up my suspension. I need to see your insurance information.
[IFRR] Don’t try to play me lady. I’ll buy you a new wheel. No sense involving insurance. I’ll give you twenty dollars. (Digs in her purse).
[SSM] (Laughing, realizing it pisses her off when her cigarette falls out of her mouth her head spins back toward me so fast) You need to pull over. I’m calling the police so we have a report.
[IFRW] The Police. Lady I got no time for that. I’m leaving… (Sees me taking a digital photo of her license plate with my phone and whips into a parking spot across the lot for me, begins waving something out her window). Here it is, b*$#h! Here’s your insurance.
[SSM] (Did I mention it’s sleeting all over the place?] I’m not walking through the rain to get your insurance information (though I do get out of the car), when you’re the one who hit me. You need to pull over here. I’m calling the police.
[IFRW] (Screeching tires and leaving rubber on pavement to join me, still screaming out her window) I said I’d pay you off, lady. You’re not gonna get anything from my insurance. I’ll tell them I pulled out first, then you hit me. Good luck getting them to believe you. We were both making left-hand turns. Everybody’s fault.
[SSM] (Taking quick pictures of my damage and hers) It was a four-way stop. We both stopped. I pulled out first and was almost out of the intersection when you hit me. Look, you hit the back of my car with the right front corner of your bumper. Unless I levitated in front of you, you pulled through the intersection last and hit my back end. I’m calling 911.
[IFRW's Boyfriend, who jumps out of car] (She never, in all 45 minutes of this, gets out of the car.) B*$#h. We said we’d pay you. I’m a mechanic, he says (Or, as he kneels down to look at my damage and his ass hangs out of his unbelted jeans, he merely plays one on TV. We’ll never know). I’ll fix this for you. Stop overreacting and shut your mouth so we can get going.
[SSM] Hello, 911? Another car just hit me and the owners want to leave and I need an officer here to make a report for my insurance.
[IFRWB] B*$#h hang up that phone.
[IFRW] I gotta get my kid at daycare.
[SSM] Well, I’m sorry hitting my car is inconveniencing your schedule, I say to her over her boyfriend’s building rant. Then to the 911 operator, Can you hear the guy cursing and screaming at me? He’s trying to bully me into hanging up.
[911 Operator] Yes, ma’am, just stay on the line, give me the license plate number in case they leave, and an officer will be there as soon as possible.
[IFRW] I’ll pay, I said. How much money do you want, b*$#h? Jesus, lady, you’re ruining my day…
And the ranting in the ice storm (which she never subjected herself to) will go on until the cops show. Have you ever heard anything crazier?
Thankfully, while I was on the phone with the operator another driver pulls up, begins taking pictures, and the wonderful lady gets out of the car to stand next to me, WHILE the IFRW is still sitting behind her wheel (I’m assuming so she can make a quick getaway) and the IFRWB is still ranting and deal-making and offering me his expert mechanic’s advice and calling me names because I’m covering my ass and theirs by getting an official report of the incident. The witness distracted him, because now he has to convince her how much I’m overreacting, while I snap some more pictures and try to stop quaking in my shoes because this guy is bullying me and it’s working, only I refuse to be bullied, so I’m waiting for the cops.
Oh, did I mention my shoes?
Everything’s fine today. The police came and the other driver was clearly in the wrong, and they made angry guy get back in his car, and I’ll have my report in a few days for the insurance, and the other driver was a God-send because she diffused angry guy’s belligerent anger. But the shoes…they were another slice of heaven in the midst. These booties made me taller than the IFRW’s boyfriend, so much so that it was like being berated by a hobbit. They helped me stop shaking and stand my ground and feel a little (well, a lot) taller and stronger than I really was. They’re lovely shoes… Don’t you agree?
Shoes aren’t just my heroin. Yesterday, they were my hero!
Oh–and the winner from last week’s little “name that designer” shoe contest?
Mary Preston–you got the designers right ! Email me your snail mail address and your choice of books from my backlist, and I’ll get it into the mail to you ;o)
How do you walk in those, in an ice storm, and not break your damnfool neck?
LOL! It wasn’t supposed to be icing yesterday, not when I left the house to run errands. Hence the maniac racing through the parking lot and hitting me, I suppose.
Rest assured. I have sensible boots to wear out in bad weather. But I’m glad I wasn’t wearing them yesterday, when I confronted the angry hobbit ;o)
Congrats to Mary Preston!
As for your “conversation” yesterday, I feel for you. I really do. I’m sure I would be quaking in my boots also, and I’m 5′10″ tall and tower over men in my runners!
I’m concerned for you, Anna. Not only will you have IFRW’s insurance info, but she – and her BF – will have YOURS! I presume your address (and phone number?) will be noted on both of your copies of the accident report, so please be careful. I don’t mean to alarm you, but it is better to be safe than sorry. I don’t trust either of them, and it sounds like they may want revenge.
Yeah. I was actually more scared during the ordeal than the post makes out. And, to be honest, the guy was still taller than me even with my heels, and he was using the height difference to his advantage looming over me while he ranted. I feel better about it today. Good enough to make light of the situation. But, yeah, I thought about them having my address. I don’t think the official report will have my phone number–only the contact information for the insurace carriers. Still, that’s easy enough to find if you want it. Not feeling good abou that, but what are you going to do?
Don’t be alone.
Meanwhile, back at the ranch….Geez woman. Thank goodness for those Boots! Oh, honey. What a nightmare. (((((((hugs))))))).
Holy cow! You were very brave. I about started shaking just reading it. Glad that someone stopped to help you.
And Congrats to Mary Preston!
Anne,
I love the shoes. Even I could be mistaken for tall in those things!
I am so glad the angry butt crack flashing red neck hobbit or his trashy red neck girlfriend aka get away driver didn’t bully you into giving in. That is a frightening situation because you just never know what can happen.
Cars can be fixed. At least you are okay.
Can not sat it enough shoes are the gateway to the soul…