day 1: post accident

Yesterday on the way home from the Reid Park Zoo, we had a little car-tastrophe.  Someone in a big old F150 smashed into the back of my teeny tiny Versa at an intersection in Tucson.  The driver admitted fault and we easily exchanged information.  We filed a report with a TPD officer, and we were on our way.  Shaky but back in action. 

That's not really the worst of it.  The bad part has been dealing with the insurance company.  No big surprise.  After 3 phone calls, I now have a claim number but not much else.  Apparently the driver has to admit fault to State Farm for all of this to be real.  Never mind that she admitted fault to me, the people in her car, the Tucson Police Officer...EVERYONE who would listen.  It's not real until she tells the State Farm Rep sitting in a random call center in Nebraska that "Yes, the accident was my fault." 

Granted my need for urgency is increased because after 4 years of staying at home, all that ends on Monday, meaning my time is not my own and I don't have infinite amounts of semi-free time to deal with bureaucratic craziness.  Our maybe I'm just bitter that very shortly after we have paid off this car, it now has a big ol' dent in it and the  hatchback doesn't open and close properly.  Whatever it is I'm hostile about the whole thing and just want a satisfactory conclusion ... SOON.

wtf

Believe it or not, this is the view from behind my steering wheel at 11:18 am on a half day. Where am I going? you may wonder. Surely this is traffic downtown somewhere... Nope... this is the freakin' parking lot of the girls' school. WTF.

All semblance of common sense is discarded as soon as parents drive into the lot. It's cut throat competition to be the first to get to the parent pick up area. Never mind that their dare devil maneuvers needlessly hem up the more sensible of us for minutes on end as they swerve and dive from line to line. Horns honk. Unpleasantries are exchanged. Drivers glare. Parents, tired of waiting, abandon their cars in search of their students. This causes the rest of us to curse them for gumming up the works even further. I sit behind the wheel and curse, wishing ill on all those causing catastrophe.

car-tastrophe averted

Yesterday while chatting (okay, so what if we were aggressively trading jabs and insults) away with my bro, T shoves my cell in my face, "Dad wants to talk to you." I finally get to his call only to discover that he is broken down on the side of the road in TOWN. This isn't the first time Mitchell's vehicle (used to be mine way back B.C.)has taken a dump on him. But this is the first time it will take me over 50 minutes to retrieve him. Vomit. Pile the kids into the car and make the trek. As usual the girls are going ballistic in the back seat the entire ride. And yes, I eventually resort to reaching my arm into the back seat and swinging it wildly back and forth, determined to hit anything that squeals. Of course this does no good. By the time I find Mitchell, I'm disgruntled. Pull up behind my lovely husband, who is sitting in the car looking equally disgruntled.

"Have you called the emergency roadside thingy?" "No. We have to get the car off the road." I look around. The car has stopped on a soft, gravel shoulder. The nearest parking lot or empty lot is a good 800 ft uphill. "How are you and I going to get the car off the road? Did you call for a tow truck?" I'm starting to get that crazed, anxious feeling. "I don't want to call a tow if it's just the battery. We just need to get it off the road, otherwise it'll get towed."

At this point, I'm getting hostile so I stay silent. I look at my clueless spouse with an expression I hope is pleasant, and if not that, than at least hostility-free. After a lot of muttering, he finally comes to the conclusion that YES we will have to call a tow truck. He makes the call and informs me that it will take at least an hour. I barely stop the words from springing out of mouth. Why didn't you call after you called me. I don't get it. So now, we're on the side of a Friday at 6 pm traffic-laden road with two kids who are fighting to the death in the back seat of our only functioning vehicle. In order to keep me from sacrificing myself by jumping into traffic, Mitchell suggests I take the girls to Target until the truck comes. I leave rubber as I cross 3 lanes of traffic to make it into the turning lane heading toward Target. After a somewhat less horrible hour of cruising the lanes of my favorite superstore, Mitchell calls for me to retrieve him. I check out, as usual the $100 Target rule applies. The next hour and a half is spent running back and forth between the parking lot at Ross and Checker trying to figure out why the car has died. Eventually we abandon the car and drive home. I'm immediately trying to figure out how we're going to manage another car payment. There goes all of our disposable income for the next 5 years. Thankfully, my dad takes mercy on us and drives down to help Mitchell figure out the problem. After about 35 minutes, he has fixed the problem and the little silver bullet is fully operational again. Thank the LORD.