Today I'm going to pick up my car at the body shop. [Sorry! I didn't mean to lead you on. It still wasn't ready. The front left headlight was faulty.]
So I have this to say about my insurance agent: May God smite the flea-bitten daughter of a clapped out whore ...
But wait. Isn't it just like me to start ranting when you don't have any idea what has happened?
Allow me to open with a humorous math problem. My 2003 VW Passat wagon has a book value of $19,700. The repairs to the body, plus the new engine it apparently needed, cost over $13,000. Now let's factor in the repairs to the Mercedes Benz (hereafter referred to as "The One That Got Away") which came in at about $5,000. Which leaves about a thousand dollars.
So now we're at three months and over $18,000 in repairs. THREE MONTHS. My question is this: does my insurance company owe me the extra $1,000 for wear and tear on my other car, not to mention my psyche? Or should they sweeten the deal and refund the last two years of insurance payments, too? And while they're at it, throw in a big-screen television and a case of really good wine?
I think they should throw something in for Fiddledeedee, who drove me to the body shop to pick up my car. She deserves something for her trouble too, especially because, what with the faulty headlight scenario, my car was not actually ready, and I'm probably going to ask her to take me there again tomorrow.
And it's all because the guy in front of me had the same brilliant idea of moving out of the left hand lane so as to avoid getting stuck behind the car waiting to make a left hand turn. Only when he noticed that the car was a police cruiser, he stopped. Cold. And I smacked into him. At about--since I was going from a dead stop and had driven about six feet--ten miles an hour.
I've said it before, and I'll say it again. When you're driving, and you see a car that apparently likes to go out on Halloween as a Sherman Tank, try to avoid hitting it. Even very slowly and softly.
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