Some people are born cynical, and others have cynicism thrust upon them. I belong to the latter group.

On April Fool’s Day, my neighbor’s father backed into my car and drove off, despite being aware of two witnesses who happened to be walking their dog at the time. I handed my cell phone to his son (who once keyed my parents’ minivan, I might add) and told him to call him up and get up to come back around. He did eventually show up, and when he did, apologized profusely and requested that everything be handled off the insurance in order to keep his rates from going up. But not before asserting that he was unaware that he had even hit my car, noting that the dent was so large because Japanese cars are made of tin (Note: he drives a Toyota as well), failing to note the more obvious reason that metal tends to crumple upon impact with a larger object. Jackass.

And like an idiot, I went along with it. Off the insurance? Sure! Why notify our respective insurance companies? Why report it to the police as a felony hit-and-run with two credible witnesses? Why not use my day off from work to drive around BFE to get six different estimates? I’m going to take the high road and make a difference in the world, I am! So a week later I handed him three estimates from the shops I liked the best and told him to get in touch with me.

He didn’t.

This past Monday was the two-week mark since those estimates left my hands and still no word from my neighbor. So I called him and told him firmly but gently that I was sick of waiting around for him and that I would need his insurance information as quickly as possible. He assured me that he would swing by the house the following morning so I could do just that.

He didn’t.

Pissed, I called him again yesterday afternoon and told him I needed his information immediately, waiting on the phone while he collected his insurance card from his truck. And the following conversation ensued:

HIM: Now we’re going to need to change the date of the accident.
ME: Excuse me?
HIM: Well, accidents need to be reported to the DMV within ten days, or else you can be penalized.
ME: Wait, who gets penalized?
HIM: Let’s just say it happened today. There aren’t any witnesses, and as long as we’re cooperating then there shouldn’t be any problems.
ME: Well, first of all, there were two witnesses. I have their names and contact information in my hand right now.
HIM: Yeah, but you wouldn’t need those unless you were suing me.
ME: (pauses to ponder the merits of this idea)
HIM: And that means you might need to go out and get those estimates re-done, cause the dates…
ME: (interrupting) No, that’s not going to happen. Look, I’m going to be above board on all of this, you get? I don’t know what kind of a game you think this is, but I’m going to report the information accurately to the DMV and my insurance company. I’m not going to get stuck in the middle of a bunch of lies just so you can cover your tracks.
HIM: Well, do what you’re going to do.

I reported my claim immediately to Progressive, within the hour I was speaking with my adjuster, and this morning I dropped my car off to be fixed. But none of this is sitting well with me; rather than reporting the incident immediately to the police, I spent three weeks covering for a crook who very well may be uninsured. Should that be the case, I’m out 500 clams for my deductible — money spent to fix a car I wasn’t even occupying at the time of the accident.

And what was I doing at the time of impact? Skipping church. I’d say God is angry with me, but would God be angry or thrilled that I chose not to attend a Unitarian church that particular morning? Discuss.

Filed by Trevor at 10:09 pm under Fightin' Words