I read a joke recently that goes something like this: If there's an accident in downtown DC, the Maryland driver caused it, the Virginia driver slows down to gawk at the wreckage and the DC driver is up on the curb trying to get around the stinking mess. That's pretty accurate.Knock on wood, I've only been a party to one car accident. Nearly 10 years ago I hit an insurance salesperson (no kidding) while she was pulling out of a school parking lot. She worked for State Farm, and since I also had Sate Farm, I believed all would be taken care of if I just gave her my info and we worked it out between the two of us. No police report needed. Just a little behind the scenes fixing by the agent and we'd both be clear of this little mess. The damage was undetectable in passing and no one was close to injured.
I made a mistake. She filed a report alright. State Farm determined (surprise!) that I was at fault and should be liable for all the damages. Here I thought she was going to be nice and sweep all this under the rug and let me off the hook, but nooooooooo. I was naive young person back then. Naive anyway. As soon as I moved out of that city, the car, insurance and invisible dent went the way of Vincent and Jules' ride in Pulp Fiction; the scrap yard.
I made a mistake. She filed a report alright. State Farm determined (surprise!) that I was at fault and should be liable for all the damages. Here I thought she was going to be nice and sweep all this under the rug and let me off the hook, but nooooooooo. I was naive young person back then. Naive anyway. As soon as I moved out of that city, the car, insurance and invisible dent went the way of Vincent and Jules' ride in Pulp Fiction; the scrap yard.
