I Should Be Allowed To Hit Her Car Now

Aug 31, 2007 18:00

Yesterday I was driving to my parent's house and listening to National Public Radio because sometimes I like to pretend that I've grown up, and don't wake up most weekend mornings with my pants around my head. -By the by, when you've drank enough, you're pants make a GREAT helmet. And yes, you can run through that wall head first if you're wearing them.-

Anyways, I was at a red light when the segment about really boring stuff ended and before the segment on the sounds of birds molting began when a large African woman pulled up next to me and hysterically screamed, "YOU HIT MY CAR! YOU HIT MY CAR!"

"Excuse me?" I asked, suddenly jarred out of the reverie of bird molting sounds coming from my stereo.

"YOU HIT MY CAR!" She screamed at me again.
"What?" I replied in total shock.
"YOU HIT MY CAR!" She responded.
"When?" I asked.
"JUST NOW! YOU HIT MY CAR!" She answered.
"Really?" I said trying to figure out, if in fact, I had hit her car.
"YES! YOU HIT MY CAR!"
"Well, pull off into that side street and we'll take a look."

As I drove over to the side street I did a fast self-check because I did not remember hitting her car. Was I sober? Was I wearing my pants-rum-helmet? Could I remember everything from the past few minutes of driving? Since I answered yes to all but the second quesition, I wondered one more: Had I hit her car? No, not a chance.

So I pulled over, and walked to where she was screaming at me. To say the least, she was a woman of epic proportions. her size could inspire Herman Meliville to write novels about the human condition and Upton Sinclair large treatises on the sanitation of fast food. Her obesity reached such a scale that it was inspiring, as though, all her dozens of chins came together to say in one voice, "Yes. Such proportions are possible in life. Dare to dream." Followed quickly by, "YOU HIT MY CAR!"

And if that seems cruel, her behavior was deserving of it. She was walking around in circles, agitatedly throwing her arms in the air, and yelling at gawking driversby, "HE HIT MY CAR!"

As I approached I asked, "Ok, where do you think I hit your car?"
"YOU DID HIT MY CAR! THIS IS WHERE YOU HIT MY CAR!" Then she walked me around to the right side of her vehicle and showed me a large, deep scratch that ran the full length of the sedan.

"YOU SEE WHERE YOU HIT IT! YOU HIT MY CAR!"
"Yes, I see the scratch ma'am, but I that doesn't neccesarily mean I made it."
"YES YOU DID! YOU HIT MY CAR!" She screamed angrily in my face.
As the smell of larder consumed straight from the can wafted from her breath and through my senses I got a little angry.
"Ma'am, I didn't make this scratch."
"YOU HIT MY CAR! YOU'RE GOING TO PAY FOR ALL OF IT! YOU BETTER OR ELSE!" she screamed in my face again. Now I was genuinely pissed. But it's an odd thing I've learned about myself; I am never more in control of my actions as when I am really, very angry.

"Ma'am, I drove on your left side, the scratch is on your right. It's pysichally impossible for me to have made that mark."
"YOU DID IT! YOU HIT MY CAR!" She replied 2 inches from my face.
"A moving rebuttal ma'am, but sorry, I won't take responsibility for this. How could I have possibly made this mark?"
"YOU SIDE-SWIPED ME AND HIT MY CAR!" She answered.
"I side-swiped the entire length of the wrong side of your car, without ever recieving any damage or losing control of my own vehicle, and without ever noticing it?"
"YES! YOU HIT MY CAR! YOU NEED TO PAY FOR THE REPAIRS!" She screamed in my face.
Now I was absolutely boiling with rage at her. I could tell because I was politely smiling and carefully choosing my words. When you're used to being a bit of a dick, good manners are a thing that only come out when you're at the ends of your witts. "No ma'am, I am not paying for that. But if you insist, this is what I will do. I will call the police, we can speak to the responding officer, and you can attempt to explain this scientific phenomena to him. Then we can see if it's still consdered prosecutable fraud even when you don't succeed."

She lowered her hands, and blankly starred at my unmoving, politely smiling face for a moment before saying politely, "Oh, we cool then." Then she sedately walked to her car, got in and drove off without another word or glance.
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