So, on Tuesday, I was in a car accident.
I was headed to work, (already a half an hour late which sucked! I’ve never been good at waking up to my alarms. But this is just a side note.) And on the highway I take to work, there was construction happening. The construction caused the Eastbound vehicles (myself included) to come to a complete halt. I was stopped behind a row of seven or eight other vehicles, patiently waiting until I could resume to normal speed.
I looked down at my lap or my steering wheel, (it’s such a blur) for just a moment, and WHAM, I was nailed from behind. It felt not only like a vehicle had hit my car, but also like someone double my weight was sitting in my back seat, and with force, used both feet to kick the back of my chair. I let out a scream. Please note, it was a scream of frustration, and not one of terror.
The impact was so intense that it caused my vehicle to slide forward into the truck ahead of me despite my foot remaining on the brake, and despite the forgiving allowance of space I left (and always leave) between me and the car ahead of me.
For some reason, my first instinct once my car had stopped moving was to immediately shut it off. I’m not sure at all what told my brain to do that, but I did.
Upon impact, my phone went flying from my cupholder and landed on the floor of my car among my feet. I took a breath to collect myself, and then reached down to grab my phone, as I knew I was going to have to use it very soon. To my surprise, I heard a knock on my door, and then I heard my door open. I looked up to my left and was confronted with the face of the woman in the car from behind me.
“Excuse me.” She said, “I just hit your car.”
Bewildered, I replied, “I know.”
I don’t remember exactly which way that short conversation headed afterwards, but it ended with my being able to shut my door again for a few more moments of privacy while I sorted through a few of my thoughts. The most prominent thought being of sadness for my car. I love(d) that car SO much. But we’ll get into that.
By the time I emerged from my vehicle, the women from the car behind me and the couple from the truck in front were all outside of their vehicles and in front of mine. I walked forward and took a peek at the front of my car. Despite it looking exactly how I’d just imagined it would, I was distraught. I swore very loudly a few times and rambled loosely about all of the frustrations I was feeling in that moment.
At one moment the woman who hit me said something about wondering what we should do, to which I quickly and firmly stated that we would be exchanging information and I would be calling the police. At another moment, the people in the truck from in front of me said something about having to pick up their friend from the airport.
After a small while of standing at the front of my car, processing all of this new information, I realized I had some phone calls to make. I stepped away from the highway and from all of the sounds of traffic so I could hear and be heard better on the phone.
The first call I made was to my boss. I got his voice mail. In the beginning of leaving my message, I sounded calm and informative, and then somewhere in the middle I lost my mind. I started hysterically trying to explain my situation before I abruptly hung up. I feel badly for my boss having to listen later to that message.
The second call I made was to my mother. I was still in hysterics at this time. I also got her voicemail at first. All she could hear on her end when she received the message was “blabber blabber sob accident sob blabber blabber sob I’m f***ed.” So she thought I was dying. (Sorry, mom!)
She immediately called me back and tried to get a better understanding of what had happened and what was happening to me. Her and my dad headed on their way to me almost instantly.
Finally, I called the police. (By this time, thankfully, my voice was much calmer.) The woman on the other end of the phone asked me a series of expected questions to understand what actions needed to take place. After what felt like a full assessment, the end of the phone call went a little something like this;
“Alright, ma’am.. I think that’s all I need from you.”
“Wait... One more thing I nearly forgot.... What’s your name?”
I found that kind of comical. Perhaps that required, nearly forgotten information is just a little relevant.
Also, while I was on the phone with the cop, I watched the truck that I was smashed into drive away. That was odd and unexpected for me. I would never dream of leaving the scene of an accident, even if there was no damage done to my vehicle.
Then there was this empty space in time before my parents or the police arrived that seemed to last for an eternity. During this time, I learned a little about the woman who had hit me. I learned that she and her girl friend were headed on a road trip together. I learned that she was around sixty years old and had never before been in a car accident. Her and her friend were both very kind to me, and both very empathetic for me.
The woman who hit me suggested that we move our cars out of the way of traffic as to not disrupt the flow or cause any more incidents. She reparked her car on a small gravel road just up a little ways. I decided not to entirely relocate my car, but because my wheels were nearly touching the dotted line that separated the traffic moving the opposite way, I got into my car, restarted it briefly, and just moved my tires over enough that someone coming wouldn’t be too near to my car.
Then, the police showed up. I stood up from the place I was seated in the grass, and the woman who hit me encouraged and urged me to tell the cops first what had happened. The woman knew that she was at fault and felt it was better left to my responsibility to be the first to inform the police.
Two cop cars showed up, expecting for one to have to hunt down the couple in the truck that had driven off while I was on the phone with 911. But as it turned out, the couple had given the women their information before they took off, and the search was deemed unnecessary.
My parents showed up shortly after the police, beyond ready to help me out in any way I needed. My dad started doing walks around my car, and my mom helped me interact with the police. After I had told the officer my full story, she gave me a form to fill out explaining all of the necessary facts about the accident. As I was filling it out, I realized the level of improbability of this accident actually happening. Admittedly, I sort of snickered to myself. It was not to spite the women who hit me, it was just comical to me at the time. Some of the boxes I checked off were; road conditions - dry. weather conditions - daytime, sunny, clear. highway conditions - straight, even, flat.
Then the tow truck came to take away my beautiful baby. I took as much stuff as I could remember in the moment was in my car out in order to definitely keep it. Though, I keep recalling things now that I’ve left behind. The driver commented a few different times on the state of my interior. (I am a fairly messy person, and there may or may not have been several drive-thru bags among other useless nicknacks on the inside of my car. Don’t judge me.) When the driver went to load my car, he said that he tried to start it and that it wouldn’t. Now, as you may remember from earlier, I did mention that my car had been both shut off and turned back on since the accident happened. I think the driver failed to realize that my vehicle is a manual, not an automatic. But who knows... maybe my car just needed a few more minutes to completely give up.
Then, my parents gave me a ride home. (My boss texted me just before the police arrived telling me that I could take the day off.)
It wasn't until I was on my way home that I started feeling any pain because of the accident. The entire time I was busy with the women and the police and my parents on the side of the highway, I could’ve sworn to you that I had suffered absolutely zero physical damage. The pain simply did not exist at that time. But, while sitting in the back seat of my dad’s Rav4, I started to stiffen up a little bit. I reported my newfound pain to my mom, and she called in and booked me a doctors appointment later on that afternoon.
In with the doctor, I learned that my neck and my back were sprained. He said it could possibly take a couple days for the pain to kick in.
It did. And... It did. I am so sore today. My mom says I’ve been moving all day like C3PO. I can’t turn my neck in any direction more than just a few centimetres without being in severe discomfort. Twisting my back also isn’t exactly the most pleasant experience.
My insurance company can’t do anything for me until they’ve contacted the insurance company from the woman who hit me. They can’t get the information until the police have finished filing their report... Which apparently, could take up to a week. So I am extremely frustrated and left in limbo with very little information to go off of.
Also, apparently in the eyes of the law, I am partly at fault for hitting the truck in front of me. Because it could be argued that I was parked too closely behind him if I hit him when another vehicle collided with me. I find this law to be very unreasonable. I don’t feel like I deserve that kind of information being put onto my record, not do I feel I deserve to suffer any repercussions of any kind due to this being a law. I know for a fact that I was not parked closely because this is a good habit I have formed and never broken in my entire driving history. It is something I am adamant about. It’s also a pet peeve of mine. And the law is unrealistic. Regardless of how far behind someone you are parked, (unless its beyond ridiculous,) if you’re hit hard enough, there’s a good chance you're going to slide into the person in front of you. That’s just physics. And I was hit pretty hard. So this is probably the most frustrating account of this experience so far.
Now, let me take a moment to tell you about my car. Her name is Belle. Originally, her name was going to be Black Beauty, (both those words being accurate descriptors of her.) The car I had before her was named Black Betty, so I thought it was kind of funny that way, too. But I knew that I didn’t want to keep her black forever. I had a dream of one day painting her a very deep purple. I didn’t want her name to stop making sense one day, so I named her Belle after the princess.
She is a Toyota Celica 05 6 speed with leather interior, and she is perfect in every way. I was so happy when I found this car (with the help of family and friends) in the first place. It was one of those meant to be, but improbable scenarios where right when I needed a new car, she shone through at a reasonable price and in excellent condition. I’ve never loved a car so much before. I would have kept her forever had I been able to. I would kill for another Celica now. Honestly, such an incredible car.
The reason why I got her was right before I had her, I had Black Betty. Black Betty was an Oldsmobile Alero that I hated more than anything. I literally hated it from the day I got it, (nay... the moment I laid eyes on it) until the day I FINALLY got to get rid of it. (One of the happiest days of my life.) That car screwed me over multiple, multiple times. It was in the shop constantly and was always somehow broken or breaking in a new and seemingly creative way. A gas tank ($40) would maybe last me two days if I was lucky. Sometimes, it would just get stuck in park and refuse to move into any other position. Sometimes, the key wouldn’t turn. One summer, it didn’t have air conditioning, and one winter, it didn’t have heat. Like honestly, the longest most ridiculous list of things that had always ALWAYS gone wrong. Plus, it’s not the most beautiful vehicle to look at. The only reason I ever had that car was because I was desperate for a vehicle and I needed some means of transportation as soon as possible. And I kept that thing for way longer than I ever thought I would. Like, I hated that car more than I have the time to sit here and explain to you.
Oh, have I mentioned what kind of car hit me on Tuesday? It was an Oldsmobile Alero.
