Now that the store’s open, allow me a second post today to rant within, because… oh GOD I have been having a horrible pair of days. Friends only post — no need to expose my venting to the open air (and to where insurance agents can see it).
As you may or may not know, I got into a fender bender yesterday. Pulling out of the parking lot of my office, some guy was slowing down earlier than I thought he would before the red light, I hit his ass at a 45 degree angle. We go into a nearby parking lot and — STUPIDLY — I somehow get the words ‘It was my fault’ into the conversation. Which means that all insurance agent hand waving aside I get to pay through the nose because legally I’ve claimed responsibility before I had counselling.
You know what sucks so bad about this? Two things.
The guy recognized I was a bit shaken and nervous and set me up for it by asking “After all, you were at fault here, right?” and I answered before I thought about it. The little weasel also tried to get out of giving me his contact info and said that the damage would probably be minimal so we wouldn’t need to go to insurance companies — I saw through THAT at least and asked for his name/phone (I should have asked for more info than that) and said I’d decide after I hear his dealer’s estimate on repairs. Not gonna commit to eating an X sum of money if I can avoid it.
Secondly, what sucks is that after the fact I realize by saying it was my fault, I am doomed. And this rubs me wrong on so many levels. You see, when I was a kid, I had a habit of lying. A lot. Even about stupid little things. Then I’d have to lie to cover my lies. Soon I had a tangled network of mistruth and I had a constant fear that it would all collapse and I’d be in intense trouble.
So, as I grew up I waited for that network to become irrelevant (time heals all wounds, moving to new schools, etc) and I took up a policy of honesty. Nowadays, 90% of the time, I don’t lie — and the few times I do I feel awful about it. Generally I will be honest… even if it’s the stupid thing to do. Because it’s what’s right and it’s the proper thing to do.
So when I rear end someone and I can tell that yes, I am at fault, I feel the need to apologize and be a man and own up to my mistakes. But the system doesn’t WANT you to take responsibility; you should shut up, deny everything and let them try to weasel you out of the situation. So by being ethical and wanting to own up, I just screwed myself. Hooray for being the nice guy. :P I’ve lost a few respect points for the world — I get a minor scrape on my car which I don’t care about, while this guy gets away with claiming $1600 PLUS dollars in fender and tailpipe damage because I took responsibility.
On top of all that, if it wasn’t bad enough to get screwed, I could have died. Every auto accident you can imagine, multiply the damage by a factor of four — that’s my daily commute, because I have no airbag, because a diastrophic dwarf behind the wheel would suffer fatal injuries from an airbag going off. Which means any crash more severe than a fender bender is going to result in injury, which means I am in serious hock every time I go on that godforsaken commute. My worst possible fear is to die lying on a hospital bed surrounded by beeping machines and people desperately trying and failing to save me, and if a car accident doesn’t bring that happy end about, I’m sure that a heart attack or other day to day injury will. So yesterday’s happy fun encounter only served to remind me of that fate, hooray.
To make matters worse, because WHY should they be any BETTER?, I get into work and it seems the new FDA look and feel that was forced onto us by a higher office does not work in Netscape 4. Well, of course! Netscape 4 is a piece of plauge-riddled dogshit! But we have to support it, so I hack my way through the code THEY SHOULD HAVE CHECKED THEMSELVES and fix it.
And then guess what? I end up accidentally triggering an obscure, hideous N4 bug wherein our home page won’t print. Displays fine — but send it to your inkjet and it flops. Homepage. Printing. N4. Obscure bug. I don’t care. But we have to fix it, so I go to dozens of websites (All say the same thing: “We know about this bug, we don’t know what causes it, we don’t care, deal with it” which we can’t say) and have no luck.
My Boss: (clearly seeing I was frustrated) “There! Don’t you feel happy now?”
Somebody give me a time machine, because if I have to endure two more days of the universe taking a big fat dump on my head, I may not survive long enough to make it to the beach.
As is, I’m hoping I’m CAPABLE of getting some R&R and feeling relaxed, given A) there are gonna be approximately 6,129 people in that house, and B) I’ll be kicking myself for not being able to write while at the beach.
To quote Q-Bert, !@$%@#$!.