Yes, my car was run over by an SUV. A white one, that the neighbors and I have seen parked on the block before, but none of us knew who it belonged to. I called the police the day after it happened (that’s last Saturday night), and while awaiting their arrival, did indeed wander the neighborhood looking for the culprit vehicle. Yes, I was barefoot.
I put all the detritus from the front of my car on my back seat, and got the case number from the officer. After the non-response from this winter’s house robbery and sexual threat, I wasn’t expecting anything much.
I called my insurance company, and found out my applicable deductable. I went to the body shop and found out the damage. And because you have to pay upon the repair, and because I don’t hold any credit cards (my income is way too unpredictable for me to live even a penny beyond it), I’m looking at how to save up to pay the deductible before I can get the car repaired. And I’m still paying back my brother for the loan for the starter, and my mom for the loan for the vet. No more borrowing. Those were emergencies; this isn’t, though my little perfectionist self does not like driving a munched car.
So I’m exercising my summer guilty pleasure (watching “Big Brother”—don’t tell anyone), and the phone rings, right by my ear. I don’t recognize the number. I answer, and it’s my neighbor across the street, who is so excited I can hardly understand her. “BJ, you gotta get out here NOW, come look at this, hurry!”
Okay, so I go outside (barefoot again), and there, in front of her house, directly across from where my car is parked, is a white Toyota RAV with a perfect black mark the shape of my license plate bracket on its white bumper, and a deep gouge in the paint that would match up exactly where the deepest dent is in my hood. I get out the detritus from the accident that I’ve put on my back seat, and hold the bracket up to the mark. Perfect.
I call the cops, who take about 20 minutes to arrive, and they agree that this is probably the car that hit me. Who in the heck goes back to park where they’ve committed a felony hit and run just four days earlier?
As I was investigating the vehicle’s bumper, some other neighbors were scrutinizing me, trying to figure out what I was doing. When the cops came, they came over to move their cars, and they actually knew who the RAV belonged to. The cops followed them to the apartment, while I began humming “bad boys, bad boys, whatcha gonna do?” under my breath.
Along with my neighbors, I was expecting a twenty or thirty something guy, who hit me drunk. Maybe he came back because when sober, he didn’t remember where the accident happened. Whatever, he sure was a little stupid. Neither the cop from the first report, nor my neighbors, nor I believed we’d ever see that SUV again. Yet here it was.
She was seventeen and flouncy.
The cops spoke with her for awhile, then had her sit in the back of one of the sedans while they telephoned her mother. They couldn’t ask her about the accident until a parent was present.
Suffice it to say, about three hours and a number of clumpy conversations later (clump #1: my neighbors and I, speculating, clump #2, the police, just BSing together, clump #3, mother and daughter, in heated conversation over the paper the cops gave them), the evening began to wear down.
She flounced angrily past us, as we sipped 7-up on the neighbors’ porch and wondered what was happening. Stormed back to the apartment, then came back a few moments later with a purse, got into her SUV, and drove off as her mother followed her out of the neighborhood. The cops gave me a sheet with all the necessary information. She’d admitted to the crime.
Next day, I’m on the phone with the insurance companies. She’d given me her name, but the insurance was her parents’, so that didn’t help. She’d given me a fake policy number. So after about a half an hour, we finally found the right policy, and I filed a claim.
I haven’t heard anything since, though I’m sure a lot of stuff is going on on that end. I have to admit that although I am thrilled that I can get my car fixed without having to pay half a month’s income, I feel really bad for her and her mother. She’s just a kid who panicked and fled, hoping it would go away, and now instead of just the raised insurance and whatever discipline from her parents, she’s got a felony on her record. And her mom—I feel so bad for her regarding her insurance premiums that are certain to skyrocket.
But I’m okay. Last summer, my car was vandalized, and that’s still not been repaired (again, deductible issues), and this summer my tire’s been stabbed. But this huge front end damage will be repaired before summer’s end, and for this I am grateful.