I should be mad. Surprisingly, I'm not.
All right, I admit: I raised my voice when I saw the damage. Shock can do that to you.
* * *
Less than ten minutes before: I was at school when I received a phone call from our cashier Aunt Rita. Could I please come to the store because the truck was pulling out? Of course, of course. I left my desk and headed down.
On the way, our next-door neighbor met me on the sidewalk. "We've called the traffic squad already," she said. (What?) She pointed to the squad van, red and blue lights flashing. (What?)
I saw the gash along the rear corner of my car, just above a broken tail light.
* * *
Here's what you should know if you're involved in car accident: don't move your vehicles. Wait till the traffic squad have made their sketch and report. You need the official report to file an insurance claim, whether it's you or the other party.
If you move your vehicles, then you have to go to the Traffic Management Group, a special police precinct, to settle matters before they can file their own report. The traffic squad, really just deputies, aren't authorized to make one anymore.
It just so happened the truck driver experienced a flash of consideration for other motorists. Not wanting to block oncoming traffic, he so kindly moved his truck out of the way.
Sigh. When it rains, it pours.
* * *
It's funny the words that come out in moments of desperation. Here were some of the excuses I heard from the cargo crew:
"The guard didn't guide us properly."
"It was raining, we couldn't see very well."
"If only the car wasn't parked there."
Perhaps I should have gotten angry at that. But you know how it is: every retort brings out another one. You make a point, and they something else. On and on, in circles.
I should have gotten mad, but where would that have led?
So instead, I bought them bread from the neighboring bakery. Much better than a circuitous argument, and at least a show of goodwill. Besides, it was late afternoon, and these guys had been unloading boxes and boxes of printers and computers since morning.
Like me, they just wanted to go home, but couldn't.
* * *
"My boss would like to talk to you," the driver said. He gave me his phone. The fellow on the other line introduced himself.
"Is there some way we can settle this?"
"Sorry, we have to file a police report."
"We really need to get our truck out of there before the evening ban comes."
"Look: if we 'settle' this now, what guarantee will I have that you won't welsh on me later? I want the police report because I want to make sure you file an insurance claim."
"Is the damage big?" I described the gash and the broken tail light. "Can you provide an estimate of how much it will cost to fix it."
"No, no. I'm not the car shop. I can't do that. You need to come down here so we can both go to the precinct."
* * *
Off to the precinct. There was the manager, the truck driver, the traffic aides, and me. Only one officer on duty, and mercifully, he was very efficient.
"Can you verify that the other car was not moving when you backed into it?" the officer asked the driver.
A few more questions, and some brief explanations, thankfully none of the excuses. The official report would be due on Monday; in the meantime, I would need to get a certificate of no-claim from my insurance company so that the truck's insurance company could start the process. That, and an assessment of the damage from the car shop.
I hope by next week I can get the car fixed. I hope.
* * *
No one wants an accident, but when they happen they happen. I feel bad about my car (oh, the adventures we've shared!), but at least it can be fixed. Most importantly, no one was hurt.
And because I didn't get mad, at least not in the way I would have in the past, I feel pretty good about myself. Today I faced a test of sorts, and I like to think I passed.