Wednesday, October 04, 2006
Yesterday morning, at 7:45 a.m. I was sitting at a red light and sipping an iced chai tea and all of a sudden, my world turned to iced liquid in my lap and stars in my head.
Yep, monster truck driver claims he didn't see me. Guess he didn't see the red light either. What kind of LaLa Land was he in? Red light AND red car? I get out and see crushed trunk and badly scraped bumper. Dial 911 on cell. Nope, can't take the call unless its life threatening, lazy voice gives me phone number to call. I'm shaking. I forget number. Another call to 911, since I do not carry a phone book in my car. She's really p______ at me by now. She, herself, finally patches me over to the police station. Attendant wants my life history and all pertinent demographics, including insurance companies, addresses and phone numbers for both parties, DL numbers, etc. How would I know his? I'm not his babysitter, just his victim. I repeat over and over again, "We are standing out in cold, wind, and traffic including BIG trucks whizzing buy at 20 mph over speed limit, honking irate motorists, and we, I repeat, we are NOT safe." "Please send help." "Not until I get this form filled out." Ok.
After fighting with dispatch to send a cop, I'm standing, dazed, out in the traffic and wind at a wind chill of 42 degrees, no coat, wet, late to work, and getting madder by the minute. I get the chewing of my life for not having a Wyoming Driver's License (one year ago DMV told me to wait until it was ready to expire, THEN come in, cop says I'm lying) while our happy little mud bogger who probably had a major stone on despite the early hour drives happily away. I later find out he was not even charged for ........what, not being in his vehicle mentally?
The truck was so blankety blank big, that's probably what saved my car worse damage than it has. I'm surprised it didn't go right over the top of me and shave off the top of the car. These trucks are the macho thing to drive out here - I think the size of the drivers' "you know whats" might correspond in the opposite direction of the size of the trucks. Have to be driving monster trucks for daily use for some wierd reason, huh? Interesting that "Dragonness," ex-employee drove one of those.
This a.m. I call his insurance agent who gets huffy with me. She says his insurance information is private. I tell her I don't want his blankety blank insurance information, I want to know where to: 1. Send bills for car repair. 2. Send doctor bills (my back is on fire from the base of my skull to my tail bone including my left hip, and my thumb and little finger on my left hand are asleep and I had to have x-rays, and, 3. Get a rental car while my car is in the shop. She stalls me again. I say, "Do I need a lawyer to obtain the answers to my questions?" She then promises to call back with claim number and information. She kept her word and within three hours I had a claim number AND the home office number of the insurance company.
I see the doc and he shoots me up on the hip with something that feels like 20 jolts of expresso, but I stop hurting for four hours. And a flu shot. Now, at home the burning is back (I guess doc thought the injuries are of a four hour duration only) and I guess I will try to fix self with a heat pack or five since I have a loooong back, and see if I can tame the knots and burning down. When I open my mouth beyond an inch, fire shoots through my ear into my jaw. Tomorrow will harrass doc for referral to massage therapist. Don't like drugs anyway, no how.
So, for now, bloggy land, bye bye. Gonna get a book, I have miso soup on, and sit on heat packs and read a serial killer book.