Cousin lives in Beverly, I live in the suburbs. I was heading down 115th street when it happened.
BAM. (actually it wasn’t really that hard so it was probably more like a really big PING or a smaller POW) I got rear ended on 115th and Pulaski in Chicago… at 4:30 PM. ON A FRIDAY. Everyone around me hated me. I hated the guy behind me. Lots of hate being thrown around there.
So I am super upset because I am not driving my own car, I am in the uber expensive Ruby and I just know one thing: There is no way on God’s green Earth that anyone (mom, the guy behind me, the insurance company, etc) was going to make this out to be my fault. I called the police. I got disconnected. (Thanks Chicago btw. I am super glad I was not bleeding out or anything.) Then I look in the rear view mirror and there he was. The culprit. WITH HIS TURN SIGNAL ON MERGING INTO THE OTHER LANE TO GO AROUND ME.
Keep in mind, I am decked out in all pastels and looking adorable for this meeting I had that night, and keep in mind that its pouring down rain, and keep in mind that I am under five foot two, but I flew out of that car and stomped (yes, actually stomped) on over to his car to scream, “WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU ARE GOING?”
He was running out of gas. He would be right back, he assured me.
“THAT SOUNDS LIKE A PERSONAL PROBLEM. MAYBE IF YOU HADN’T BEEN A DICK YOU COULD HAVE GOTTEN TO THE GAS STATION ON TIME! Want to pull into this Mexican restaurant and talk about it some more?”
Little did I know the guy was 17 so I was scaring the ever-loving-crap out of him. But we did pull into Las Fuentas and per the 911 operator’s instructions (once I got ahold of her) we began exchanging information. He did have a driver’s license. He did not have insurance. I called my aunt who is a retired police officer, she told me that I needed to call 911 AGAIN to get an officer to come to the scene.
So the 17 year old who hit me, his uncle owned the car so he came to the scene and was like “Well it looks like there’s no damage.” To which my dad (who had just pulled up) was like “Well why don’t we let a body shop determine that.” (For the record, there are a few scratches and cracked lights and sensors.) And the uncle was all, “Is there any way I could convince you to say it was me driving the car?” And I am Catholic as all get-out and I have such a guilt complex that I was like, “NO!” So… that didn’t work out for him at all.
Long and anticlimactic story short, the police came and it is all going to be okay. Why am I telling you all of this:
1) Trust me when I tell you that if at some point when you wake up in the morning you think to yourself, “I should wear waterproof mascara today!” listen to that thought. I did, and even through all the screaming and crying I did (most of which was probably hormonal and unnecessary) I still looked flawless.
2) Don’t mess with me no matter what time of month it is and how much rain is coming down. Actually don’t mess with me when I am driving my mother’s car. Actually just don’t mess with me.
3) This should serve as a public apology to anyone who was behind us on 115th and Pulaski. I was too panicked to move my car. It took me awhile to get out of the way. I apologize. I DIDN’T THINK.
4) To the guy who drove past me and called me a “f****** b****” you are supremely lucky I was only in my mother’s car. She isn’t packing heat 24/7.
5) Be careful on rainy roads, drive with insurance… blah blah blah.