Jaci Dawn

I have been struggling with how to write this. On one hand, I want to be gracious. I don’t know the other side of the story and I may never know it. There may be something deeper at work here than I have the right to judge. Or not.

And on the other hand, I am rather ticked off.

I am not as ticked off at the circumstances surrounding my car as I am at other circumstances in my life (which I cannot write about right now), and that puts things into perspective.

I have been in a few accidents. Most of them involved a bump, a quick check of the damage and a shrug: “Well, your car is hurt more than mine and it’s not enough to even call a repair shop about”. I was rear-ended when my son was four, and that was probably the worst as it totaled my car and happened at a time in our lives when money was so tight we were picking up cans on the side of the road to buy gas.

And I rear-ended a school bus. Emotionally, that was the WORST. Thankfully, there was no damage to the bus or the students inside and minimal damage to my rig. All the serious damage was to my emotional well-being. The school bus driver called her dispatch and they decided to not worry about it since there was no damage. In my defense, roads were extremely slick and she stopped suddenly. OK, there’s no defense. I will carry that one to the grave.

It didn’t help that co-workers posted funny signs on my office door, making fun of my accident. I really felt the LOVE.

The day my car was totaled, I made several decisions. My son was my constant companion and in those days, it was still acceptable to put a car seat in the front passenger seat. He was tired and whiny, however, and I left him in the back seat in the hopes that he would fall asleep before too long. I had two coffee cups on the dash on the passenger side. I was driving a 1983 Ford Escort hatchback that we still owed more money on than it was worth. Two cars were ahead of me and one slowed to turn left into a driveway. I slowed to about 35mph.

The half-ton Chevy pick-up that was following me didn’t slow down at all. She hit me square on. Coffee cups bounced off the fabric of the front passenger seat and then rebounded forward, clinking together and breaking into pieces. My son looked up and said, “What was that?” The seat belt gripped my shoulders and my body strained against it.

She had no Driver’s License and no insurance. I filed an accident report and called my insurance company. In the end, my car was beyond repair but was still drive-able. We were paid off by insurance for what the car was worth, but it still left us with a huge car payment for the remained of our loan and a severely damaged car that we desperately needed to transport two small children.

I drove that car until it died on Highway 213 at over 100,000 miles. The hatchback leaked, it was spewing oil and had bad valves. It was a great car and was paid off when I finally killed it, but I still shudder to think how much interest we paid and how much I wished I could have had it repaired by SOMEONE ELSE’S INSURANCE.

Our rates did not go up, but the whole claim was laid on our insurance company, SafeCo.

That was over 20 years ago.

Last Friday, I decided to sneak through downtown Portland on my way to my dentist appointment in Milwaukie. I could have taken US Hwy 26, but I kind of like the drive along W. Burnside, dodging bicyclists, taxis, Tri-Met, and pedestrians. It was a clear, sunny day with no obstructions. I was under the shady canopy of trees in the Park Blocks section (which is a really short block) of Burnside. Right lane because I was going to soon move further right to position myself for the crossing of the Burnside Bridge and my right turn onto Grand. (Is it Grand? I lose track of the names of Portland City streets these days. MLK Jr runs north & I think it is still Grand that runs south).

There was a pedestrian in the crosswalk a car ahead of me. I eased into position, coming to a full stop. The cars in the left lane were stopped and I was keeping an eye on the car behind me – not because it was a problem but because I’d just been followed by an obnoxious tail-gater down W. Burnside from Skyline. It’s only 40 through there and he wanted to go 50, despite the fact that I had cars in front of me going 40.

And then my car went CRUNCH.

Seriously? I wasn’t moving, traffic wasn’t moving, and someone just turned into me?

We pulled off as soon as safety allowed it, just east of 8th Avenue. No witnesses pulled off, a factor that kind of pisses me off. I have *always* stopped when I witnessed an accident. I have *always* given my contact info to the driver in the right. I have often been called on to give a statement. IT’S YOUR DUTY AS A DRIVER!

Karma was not my friend on Friday: no one stopped and I know a lot of people witnessed the accident. Whatever. I never believed in Karma, anyway. So there.

The other driver was a nice middle-aged woman, probably the same age as me. A really nice woman. Sweet, even. She was upset that she’d driven into me and worried about what her husband was going to say.

I pause here to digress: in our marriage, I sometimes worry about what Donald will say, but I am never afraid of what he will say. I think he’s more afraid of what I will say, and he knows that I will bluster and then calm down. But I am not afraid of him and he really isn’t afraid of me. We’re two people who live together in relative harmony who trust and respect each other. If I do something stupid, he knows. If he does something stupid, I know. We still love each other.

That was one red flag.

She had no insurance card. Second red flag. Said it was at home, on a dish on the table. Mine is in my glove compartment, with my registration and all the info on oil changes, tires, and KIA manuals. I’m obsessive. The only thing not in the glove compartment is the gas mileage notebook – it’s in the console so I can fill it out every time I get gas. Yes, seriously. My family is OCD about gas mileage. My dad had a notebook, my mom had a notebook, my brother has a notebook, I have a notebook. My husband rolls his eyes.

We exchanged as much information as possible and I told her several times that I was trusting her for the info. I knew I was in deep water.

I called insurance as soon as I got to my appointment and started my claim.

After my appointment, I drove home (mouth numb) and was received by two voice mail messages regarding the accident, both asking me to *not* file insurance. TOO late. I talked to her later and felt my blood pressure rise.

Then I justified it because she really was a nice person. I’d like to go out for coffee with her. I think we’d connect. Be friends, even.

I tried to consider her husband’s request: let them pay for it.

But the damage to my car exceeded the law: $1500. And my family is from law enforcement. My dad, my brother. I really had no choice. The law is clear.

I’m sad because I’m not sure insurance is going to be fair to me. It’s all on my insurance because the other driver is now in hiding. It’s not a big deal: this is why we have insurance. I pay my premiums, I am a good driver, I get it. Money is… well, money is not as big of a problem now as it was over 20 years ago when my car was totaled and I still had to pay for it. And it’s *only* money.

No humans were hurt. Seriously. That is wonderful. I am thankful a million times over for that.

I am sad because there was a moment when I thought I could reach out to the other driver and we could be friends despite the stupid accident. We still could. I don’t really care if she does the right thing or not at this point in time. I sense that she needs a friend.

Today’s column is just that: if you are the other driver and you are still reading my blog… I’m not feeling vindictive. I have bigger problems in other areas of my life. It’s only money. Money is precious and I really don’t need this expense, but I thought you reached out for something.

Call me in about three weeks, after the dust has settled, if you can’t do it now and be honest. I can forgive. I may be the friend you need. I’m pretty certain you know this wasn’t random. Maybe Karma was your friend on May 10.

I’m offering you friendship. No questions asked. You have my email and phone number. We’ll have coffee.