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Journal: My Car Got Smacked In The Parking Lot By Some Asshole

By Michael - 05-23-02

Here are some journal entries I wrote specifically for this site between the dates of April 24 and May 20, 2002. In the continuing Rail! tradition, there will be many speling errors, and overuse of commas (and parentheseses). And the word and

Enjoy my pain!

Day One: April 24, 2002

I drove to work this morning in my shiny red 2001 Cavalierô. I just got it this January, because I'm having an early mid-life crisis. The "CHECK ENGINE" light is on pretty much all of the time, since it's a Chevrolet, and Chevy's are made out of good-old-fashioned American Dog Crap. I'm not very worried about this. I've already been to the shop to have somebody look at it. It's just an emissions problem, and it's covered by my warranty. Besides this specific anomaly, I haven't had any problems with my car. I'm especially happy with my CD player. Blasting the Misfits, I pulled into the parking lot. I park in the far corner, about halfway out. I don't want anybody to ding my door.

I went inside and clocked in for the day. I had a pretty hectic day at work, so the time pretty much flew by, and before I knew it, it was 4 o' clock: time to go home. I was looking forward to my day off tomorrow. I planned to work on the site a bit, maybe record some music, and mess around with my copy of Photoshop Elements that I was expecting in the mail today.

I went out to my car and saw this (Click to enlarge):

carshot01.jpg (30991 bytes) carshot02.jpg (28972 bytes)
This is bullshit here, folks.

I said to myself, "Damn, somebody's ride got smacked! Glad it's not mine!"

Then I took a closer look. Wait a minute! This is my car!

If this were a movie, I'd look up to the sky and shout, "NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!" Then I would go kill all kinds of bad people in a warehouse or something, and my police chief would yell at me for "endangering the public", and I'd hand him my badge, punch him in the face, and say, "Hasta la vista, baby".

Um, anyway, I begin to imagine the person responsible for this heinous act. I begin drawing a little profile in my head. I estimate that it was a senior citizen. Drunk. With buck teeth (or no teeth), and overalls. And a hat that says either "CAT" or some shit about Dale Earnhardt. Driving a ridiculously large pickup truck. Well, sir (or fat hairy madam), if you are reading this (as if you'd ever read anything in your life besides gun magazines and Dr. Seuss books), I'd like to tell you something. 

Watch where you're going, you inbred piece of shit.


Artist's sketch of the suspect.

Here's a question for you:

If I'm backing out of a parking space, and I hear metal scraping against metal, accompanied by a loud thud, I:
(A) Immediately apply the brakes. Find the owner of the car and exchange insurance information.
(B) Keep on trucking! Plow right through that sumbitch!
(C) Hit my wife for no reason, then take another drink.
(D) Listen to Lynrd Skynrd.

Hint: The answer is (A). Moron.

In shock, I went back inside, mostly just to tell my coworkers and boss, "Hey, someone hit my car in the parking lot. What do I do?" 

Jeanette (a coworker) suggested that I call the police and file an accident report, which I did immediately. I went up front, and called the police. A police officer with a buzz cut arrived within ten minutes (The buzz cuts make the police more aerodynamic or something). He took a look at my car, and kept asking me questions, as if he didn't trust me. He told me I'd have to stop by the police station tomorrow to pick up my accident report.

Me: "Thanks a lot, nazi pig!"

Cop: "What did you say?"

Me: "Man, that dent is big!"

(Disclaimer: This policeman was actually quite helpful. I made up previous conversation in an attempt to be funny. Please forgive me.)

I called my insurance agent. She told me I was going to have to pay a $250 deductible to get the car repaired (Uninsured Motorist). This is the part that upsets me. I have to pay because of somebody else's stupidity. That's money I was planning to use for something! I'm almost angry enough to turn green and grow pectorals. That'd be so cool. I'd like to grow muscles just by getting mad, because I don't really get much time to work out, and that would be a great time-saving step. The "Get Pissed Workout!"

Oh, anyway, I'm pretty upset, but I'm trying not to let it get to me. I'm not going to worry about any of this until tomorrow. I tried to distract myself from my little problem. I learned how to play "We're Not Gonna Take It" by Twisted Sister tonight. It's a pretty fun song to play, as long as you don't wear all of the makeup and wigs and shit. That would just be gay. I also messed around with Photoshop Elements for a while. It's not as good as Photoshop Photoshop, but it takes up almost all of my computer's memory, so it must be pretty good... I also decided to write this journal for the site, so I get something out of this whole situation.

April 25, 2002

I got my accident report from the police station this morning. Took my weekly shower.

I called my insurance company to get them to give me an estimate on my damages. Now, I'm not going to refer to this insurance company by name, but they often advertise that they will come to the scene and give you an estimate on the spot. They told me that they couldn't send anybody out to me because the guy that was going to handle my claim was in training. Tell me your car's broke or something - don't tell me that you're letting a newbie handle my insurance.

I had to drive to Rome, which is about 30 - 40 minutes away. Gives me a chance to listen to some music, but I would've rather stayed home.

The dude came out to look at my car, and took some photos of with a pretty cool digital camera. He went back inside the office. He came back out with a laptop, and showed me the parts they would need to replace. 

"Yeah, we'll write you a check right now. You'll just have to handle your five hundred dollar deductible", he said casually, in an attempt to rip me off.

"My deductible is two hundred fifty", I spat back.

"Oh, yeah. I'll have to look that up again" he mumbled.

Incompetence!

Well, he gave me a check for around 450 dollars, and he pointed me to a body shop down the street. I drove to the body shop and set up an appointment for Monday, May 6.

On the way back, I got lost in a "bad" neighborhood. Fun, fun, fun. In order to blend in, I pretended to be a crack dealer.

April 30:

Today I set up an appointment to get a rental car. I also figured that I could get that "Check Engine" emissions problem repaired, so I called up my dealer to get that part fixed. You know, the thingy or whatever.

May 2: 

I woke up early this morning to get my car in to the mechanic to fix that emissions problem. I sat in their waiting room for over an hour, when they came in and told me that they ordered the wrong part - again. This is the fourth or fifth time I have been to the mechanic for the VERY SAME PROBLEM. The first time, they say it's a computer glitch, and they updated the car's software. Second time, They tell me that they have to order a part, and I have to come back in a week or so. Third time, they take my car apart, and try to replace the doohickey, and it doesn't fit. They've ordered the wrong part! They tell me that they'll call me within a week, and they never call. They forgot about me - so I called back about a month later to make today's appointment.

And now, they order the wrong part, for the second time in a row. 

I'm beginning to get a little impatient. I'll have to make another appointment next week.

May 6:

I drove the car to the body shop this morning, and waited for the lady from the magical rental place to pick me up. She came through the door right on time. She looked pretty decent. Not deformed or hairy or anything. I decided to be friendly. Put on the old charm...

As we approached her car, I saw the dreaded baby seat in the back. Oh, well. This one's already taken.

Like most women, she spoke of her HUSBAND and her TWO-YEAR-OLD almost endlessly. This is a natural defense mechanism that women develop while speaking to me. If they feel that I'm being too friendly, they automatically mention their "violent boyfriend" or their "18 bastard children". I get the point, lady. I can tell you have a child, because (1) you have a baby seat and (2) the car is teeming with the stale smell of urine. I'm not going to hit on you, so you can just relax. Have some wine, baby. Naw, I'm just trying to treat you right, sweet thang...

May 7: 

I dropped the rental car off before I was charged for another day. On the way way back from Rome, we went to Circuit City and I got a GeForce2 video card so I can play the Spider-Man game (which is pretty cool, by the way).

Later today, I got a call from the body shop telling me that my car is ready! After all of this, I can finally have my car back! We'll finally have some closure, and I can stop writing this journal! Has anybody actually read this far? I like chicken!

We got to the shop, and I saw my car as we drove up - good as new! I took a quick glance, and went inside to pay. After that, I got to drive home in my own car for the first time in days. 

I got home and took a closer look at the repairs. From the outside, you could never tell that the car was ever damaged, but the inside of the wheel well appeared to be the work of vandals. A long weld-mark scarred my once beautiful automobile like the work of a ax-murderer strung out on crack, PCP, and lighter fluid. Some plastic pieces that were disconnected during the accident are still not lined up properly. Bummer. Should I complain to the body shop?

May 8:

Everybody at work told me to complain to the body shop. According to the paperwork, they're supposed to restore my car back to the way it was before this little mishap. Do you know what? I give up. I don't care anymore. It'd take too much time and money to fix a superficial problem. Don't try to argue with me. (Putting fingers in my ears) LA LA LA LA YA LA LA LA I CAN'T HEAR YOU LA LA LA!


This is birdshit here, folks.

May 20:

Maybe this journal wasn't the great idea I thought it would be. It's basically been three or four pages of me complaining like a little bitch. I haven't really felt much like writing for the past couple of weeks either, so this article is late. Let me wrap this whole thing up in my usual abrupt fashion:

So, what have we learned today?

Don't park anywhere. Ever.

-Michael

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