Hey, I’m back and this time I have a weird story to tell.
About a month ago, I was involved in a nasty car accident that cost me my precious car. I know what you’re thinking – no, I did not cause it. Really.
I guess no one believes me. I will elaborate, cause I can’t stand being misjudged.
Okay, so here’s the deal. My city is one of the most horrible places for a driver. If you can drive here, you can drive anywhere. Well, not really sure about “anywhere” cause I haven’t been everywhere to tell, but I am sure, for my American audience, that this city is 26987097 times worse than your New York. People just don’t care. They don’t care that they have the potential to kill you with their vehicles, they just want to get wherever the fuck they’re going, as fast as they can, regardless of the rules.
So my accident pretty much went like this. I was going to have lunch in the ruthless South side of the city, in a notoriously packed street, at a notoriously hectic time (1 PM). I was looking for a parking spot, but there weren’t any available near the place where I would eat, so I decided to park in the gas station right across the street. The reason that street is always so full of traffic, is because it is quite narrow, thanks to the ever-so-effective Metrovia system (public transportation) that crosses the city from North to South, which conveniently has its own exclusive lane THAT NO CARS CAN EVER INVADE all through that lucky street I was in.
Parking meant that I had to cross the Metrovia lane in order to enter the gas station, so I knew I had to be extra careful. Before entering this dreaded lane, I looked around and saw no sign of those huge blue buses, so I crossed. Little did I know that some smartass bitch was coming like a mad person at the speed of light right at me.
It was too late to do anything. This idiot person thought it would be a great idea to escape the merciless traffic by invading the Metrovia lane. This stupid, stupid man apparently turned into the Metrovia lane from a corner right as I was crossing it, and was going so fucking fast that, despite his efforts to hit the brakes and stop, he still hit me. Obviously, the dude crowned himself as the biggest asshole in town when, instead of stopping to help me, he just turned around and left. Left me with my nerves all in a wire, and with a huge dent in the driver’s door.
This is when my car proved to be a fucking superstar – instead of breaking into a million pieces like some other of its same size and features would, My Renault Twingo stood there like a true French warrior, taking the punch and not even moving. It could have been a much worse accident for me, but my car saved me.
Yes, it was not my fault. Hopefully this will appease some of the rumors about my horrible driving. Guh.
Ok, so this is when it gets interesting.
My car was insured for a little more money than its original price, as I got it conveniently cheap, and it was in near-perfect shape. When it was time to take the damaged car to the insurance company, they arranged for it to be sent to the certified Nissan-Renault dealership in town, which would assess the damages and send the insurance people a quote with all the repairs and parts that needed to be replaced. The accident itself wasn’t terrible – I even drove home after I got hit – but the most affected area, the door, needed replacing. I wasn’t counting on my car being rare and expensive (in parts and repairs) and the dealership being a fucking ripoff, so I didn’t think the damages would amount to much – door replacement and all.
Surprise, surprise. The damages went up to over 50% of the total cost of my car. So the insurance decided to just give me back the money my car was insured for, and they would keep the broken car.
This was pretty depressing. It wasn’t even my fault, and I was the one losing my car, while the asshole who hit me ran away free, and is probably sleeping peacefully at night. And I hadn’t even finished paying for my car!
After some serious denial and assimilation, I understood that this was for the better, whatever would happen. I would get more money than I originally spent on the Twingo, and I could buy myself a better car with it. All I had to do is wait.
Ok, so I waited. I turned in all of the documentation and the keys to my beloved car, hoping the check with the money would be sent to me soon. Until someone casually told my mother that insurance companies give the owner the option of buying their fucked up cars. I thought about that before, but for some reason it didn’t feel right. When my mom told me this, I called the insurance and asked them if I could, indeed, buy my car, and they said I definitely could.
Guess what I did? I bought it. Of course, the car is still broken, and I would have to spend some money in all the repairs necessary, but I’ll do it somewhere else, where it will cost me only a fraction of what those dealership idiots quoted. Best thing about this is, I will still get my check, which means I will get enough money to buy my old car, fix it, and pay off some of the debt. Tough luck, I suppose, for my car, cause it returns to hands and will be submitted to my terrible driving again, but great for me! Yay!
Now, isn’t life fucking brilliant? This is exactly what happens when I start losing faith in everything. Something good crosses my path. Ahhh, I just can’t stay miserable for long.