After trekking around the store for 1/2 hour looking for a variety of odds and ends and a shelf to finish organizing the dreaded craft closets, I came out to find (after unloading the boys from the giant two-seater cart and loading them in the car) that someone had backed into the rear of my car with what appears to be a large utility vehicle or assault tank or something. No note, no "whoops. sorry. call this number" card stuck on my windshield, no NOTHIN. Nothin' but my crunched up car. The rear hatch door is now concave all around the license plate and various metal panels are bent and raised in all the wrong places. The bumper is wiggly and has a 1/2 inch deep black gash in it. Whoever, or whatever, hit my defenseless little minivan was hauling some serious tail and HAD to realize from the crunching that must have occurred upon impact that they had damaged another car. And yet, NO NOTE. No taking responsibility for his or her reversing at 90 mph without checking that odd little contraption called the REARVIEW MIRROR. Isn't that what they brainwash you to do in driver's ed? LEAVE A NOTE! USE YOUR REAR VIEW MIRROR!
So I reloaded the boys back up into the cart, strapped back on their shoes (which they remove the instant they get in their carseats), to go back inside and find out if the surveillance cameras might have caught anything. After speaking to the manager, I was annoyed to find out that they only cover the entrance, not the parking lot, so the tapes wouldn't help me. But they were all really nice and gave good "oh no, that's terrible" and "And they didn't leave a note?" comments. Then we went back to the car, unloaded and REloaded everyone again, and went home.
And yes. I am fully aware that I am using alot of CAPITAL letters. I'm still THAT ticked off almost 24 hours later.
But wait, it gets better. Besides all the hassle and crazy logistical arrangements that have to be made to drop off the only car we own that fits all 6 of us at once for repairs, we get to pay for it. Because upon calling our insurance, we (Jeremy) absentmindedly declined the uninsured motorist coverage when filling out all the paperwork. Freaking fabulous.
I never would have done that, because the only other time that I've ever been in a car crunching situation has been when a toothless uninsured dude hit me while he was pulling his Dodge Dart out of McDonalds. I was STOPPED at a red light and couldn't go forward or backwards. He pulled out and smacked right into the side of me. Perhaps the grease from the fries made the steering wheel too hard to turn? Don't know. All I know is that me and my friend Andrea freaked out.
Did I mention I had only had my license for about 18 minutes? And that cell phones were practically nonexistent then so I couldn't call anyone for help? And that the whole time I was dreading going home to tell my dad that the right side of the car we had just gotten was now a giant crunched mess?
I have vivid memories of Andrea getting out a pen and notepad and giving Mr. and Mrs. Toothless the third degree while taking notes like one of those crazy Dateline investigative reporters. He gave us a (fake) insurance card and promised that it would be no problem getting my car fixed, blah blah blah. Apparently he had done this alot before because his car was smashed from more than just hitting us and my insurance said he had no coverage, but there was a list of people that had tried to make claims against him, and it wouldn't do much good to go after him because he probably had no money. All I know is that he had enough money to hit McDonald's pretty hard and stuff his face with it the whole time he was getting interrogated by my sidekick. Since then I ALWAYS get uninsured motorist coverage.
Anyway, now I'll get to spend the next week hauling the boys around auto-body repair shops to get estimates and eventually have it fixed. That should be fun since those places are SO kid-friendly and NEVER have dangerous or precarious displays in their greasy waiting rooms. Like huge tire displays that are balanced in such a way that one touch from a two-year old would send eight GIANT heavy, rubber tires cascading down to crush said two-year old and his brother, and then careening around the room to take out anything else in their paths. Or the disease infested Lego table from the late 1980's. You know what I'm talking about. The ones that Moms look at and cringe because you can see the 30 varieties of bacteria multiplying in those dirty little crevices right before your eyes. And one of those yellowed-because-it-used-to-be-white legos inevitably ends up in someone's mouth. Or the disgustingly greasy rotating red metal candy and gumball machines, the ones that have old stale nuts and M&M's missing half their shells. And the boys will cry and scream about "TREATS!" until I finally give in and dig up 2 quarters from the crumbly pit of my purse, only to have the machine take them but only dispense half a mangled bit of ancient candy residue. I'm so excited. Could someone poke me in the eye with a screwdriver please?
And anyone that comments that I had it coming for making fun of the blue car with the Holy Spirit protection plan, I KNOW. I GET IT. But if you rub it in, you will receive my little friend from the craft closet in a nice bubble wrapped envelope casket. Just ask Jessica if you don't believe me. I shipped her a dead rodent all the way to the East coast.