Car Crash, Crackheads, and Complications Pt 2
At first, I was mad at myself for not just posting the Monday post Monday, in the spirit of Gonzo blogging. Now I'm glad I gave it two days. Though it may not seem it, I did edit most of the obscenity out of it. It reads less like a Jay and Silent Bob rant now. Well, only just, I guess.
So gentle reader, where did I leave you. Oh yes, the blubbering fool called Tuesday morning to get my info and assure me her psycho 'not' boyfriend would never contact me again. By Friday, State Farm called to let me know that the woman and her husband were separated and he no longer paid her car insurance. It went out last month. Told you: big sheaf of papers, no little white card, they got bupkis for you. Call. The. Cops.
Anyhoo, the upshot, the marvelous fabulous bonus to this little ripple in my lazy river ride of a life is this: My uninsured driver clause has a ZERO deductible. Can you hear my sigh of relief?
She's fucked. Her car is pretty much undriveable, I smacked the ever loving hell out of the back wheel of her car. The axle or the wheel is bent. She is getting a divorce, her daughter is giving her a ride to work. Her job is at risk with this headache, and to top it off, State Farm plans to sue her for the $1900 it's going to take to fix my car. Ouch.
I don't want to sound like a commercial, but State Farm covered my ass on this one. I planned to get it fixed at Sunset Collision on PCH and Temple. They fixed it last time and seemed cool. Then I found out it was going to be a week and a half. I had planned on walking to work, and getting small amounts of groceries when possible. Maybe hitch a ride with friends to workout. But ten days is a hell to the no. State Farm recommended a garage that has a loaner. Horn's on Long Beach Blvd.
Now, yours truly is rolling old school with a maroon Camry. It's so fucking Repo Man. There are two lemon pine tree air fresheners hung on the gear, and a jelly pot of lemon freshener, and the goddamn thing still smells like armpits and swamp ass. But it's free, the repairs are happening, and my part in this little drama is done. Considering how bad it could have been, I feel very lucky.
Hell...I know I'm lucky.
So gentle reader, where did I leave you. Oh yes, the blubbering fool called Tuesday morning to get my info and assure me her psycho 'not' boyfriend would never contact me again. By Friday, State Farm called to let me know that the woman and her husband were separated and he no longer paid her car insurance. It went out last month. Told you: big sheaf of papers, no little white card, they got bupkis for you. Call. The. Cops.
Anyhoo, the upshot, the marvelous fabulous bonus to this little ripple in my lazy river ride of a life is this: My uninsured driver clause has a ZERO deductible. Can you hear my sigh of relief?
She's fucked. Her car is pretty much undriveable, I smacked the ever loving hell out of the back wheel of her car. The axle or the wheel is bent. She is getting a divorce, her daughter is giving her a ride to work. Her job is at risk with this headache, and to top it off, State Farm plans to sue her for the $1900 it's going to take to fix my car. Ouch.
I don't want to sound like a commercial, but State Farm covered my ass on this one. I planned to get it fixed at Sunset Collision on PCH and Temple. They fixed it last time and seemed cool. Then I found out it was going to be a week and a half. I had planned on walking to work, and getting small amounts of groceries when possible. Maybe hitch a ride with friends to workout. But ten days is a hell to the no. State Farm recommended a garage that has a loaner. Horn's on Long Beach Blvd.
Now, yours truly is rolling old school with a maroon Camry. It's so fucking Repo Man. There are two lemon pine tree air fresheners hung on the gear, and a jelly pot of lemon freshener, and the goddamn thing still smells like armpits and swamp ass. But it's free, the repairs are happening, and my part in this little drama is done. Considering how bad it could have been, I feel very lucky.
Hell...I know I'm lucky.
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