Someone reversed into my car and yet I ended up feeling guilty?
After a van hit my car, I navigated the chaos of damage and insurance with the nervous driver.
Maybe I experienced a premonition, or maybe I’m just naturally nosy. Either way, I had a feeling that the van was going to hit my car.
I think I was expecting a delivery when I noticed the large white van manoeuvring outside the house. I walked to the window and was surprised at the unusual angle the driver had wedged their vehicle into. Sometimes the Amazon delivery guys park at a 45 degree angle on the pavement while they jump out to make a delivery, but this guy looked like he was trying to reverse back out again. Hmm, if he carries on at that speed he’s going to hit—
CRUNCH
—my car.
Not quite believing what I’d just seen, I ran to grab my shoes and dashed outside in the rain, quickly grabbing a photo of the van’s numberplate as it pulled out into the street and began driving away.
“OI! COME BACK!”, I yelled, chasing after it down the street and banging on the side. The driver wound down the window and tried to placate me: “I’m just going to park up then I’ll come back”. “YOU FUCKING BETTER!”, I shouted back, panting.
I’ve had bad experiences with this stuff: my car already has dings and dents from various inattentive drivers who bumped it while it was empty and scarpered without leaving a note or knocking on the door. I wasn’t about to let this guy do the same.
The van driver parked up and approached me warily as I examined the damage. Not too bad really: a warped numberplate holder and a crack in the front bumper. Drivable, fixable. He came over to look, and apologised.
I soon realised he was nervous: shivering in the cold rain as we looked at the Honda together. “Shall we get out of the rain and exchange details?” he asked. I nodded, and we crouched in my porch and got our phones out.
“What do you need? My insurance?” I asked, and I saw his hands shaking as he tried to find an app on his phone. “I think so… I’ve never done this before”, he confessed. I suddenly started to feel bad for yelling at him.
We muddled through the paperwork together, each of us trying to determine what details the other needed, and how to ensure we weren’t accidentally screwing each other over. I apologised for shouting, and pointed out the previous battlescars on my car from less-honest drivers.
At one point, as we scrolled, he muttered an exasperated fucking hell to himself as he realised the weight of paperwork and insurance claims that were ahead of him. He was working for his employer in their vehicle, which would no doubt complicate his situation there – all for the sake of a few seconds’ poorly-observed reversing. If I hadn’t seen him do it, maybe none of this would’ve needed to happen…
Duel of the fates
It reminded me of a tweet I saw years ago about someone who ordered a takeaway, saw the delivery guy on his moped arrive at the end of the street, then saw a car crash into the moped and the driver knocked off the bike. The man was okay, but the customer who ordered the food was wracked with guilt: if they hadn’t fancied a pizza that night, the bloke wouldn’t have needed a new bike (or medical attention). You can’t live your life with this level of worry for cause and effect, but I found myself concerned now that this bloke might lose his job because I kicked up a fuss about superficial damage to my car.
In the end we shook hands, I thanked him for his honesty, and he apologised again – the hassle and bureaucracy will be the biggest impact for me, rather than the cost. My insurance claim is stuck in “pending” while they figure out the details. Hopefully he’s still driving – his company delivers affordable furniture to people living in sheltered housing.
Mini-feels this week
The biblical flood
It began raining heavily yesterday, just in time for the end-of-school pickup trip. I was ensconced in my shed, working, and had to grab an umbrella I’d thoughtfully stashed in order to dash to the main house. When I looked outside, there was near-rivers of rainwater sloshing down the streets.
I got to the school and realised there was so much water streaming down the road itself as well as the pavements that there was no way for me to collect my kid without stepping into cold, calf-deep waters. I dashed across to the door and waited for him, then had to repeat the journey with a five-year-old, who instantly accepted the new aquatic element of our commute, and wanted to step into every gushing stream with his school shoes to celebrate.
I then decided we needed to drive to the rescue of my partner and other child, who were a near-mile walk away from public transport in some of the heaviest rain I’ve ever seen. We got in the car and sat for ten minutes on our street, unable to leave due to the queue of other drivers attempting to get around gridlock.
Once I eventually made it out of our street I learned why the gridlock was directing everyone there: all the other roads out of the area were flooded, with trapped vehicles moored in enormous pools. I had to turn around and admit defeat, while Maddy got the train home. Lesson learned.