(I’m driving through a car park for a group of shops that is terribly cramped, curving, and has awful visibility. As I drive through, a tiny red car reverses out from the other side of a huge van, and hits my car in the rear side door. I park in the next available park and walk over to the red car. The driver is a woman in her 30s and looks pretty shaken. I had my first ever “reverse into someone” accident a few months prior, since I’m only 18 in this, so I’m pretty sympathetic.)
Me: “Hey, are you all right?”
Woman: “How ****ing fast were you going? This is a ****ing carpark, not a ****ing main road!”
(At this point I sense there’ll be some trouble, so I take out my phone and take photos of the dent on her bumper, and the dent on my car, which has a large scrape of red paint on it.)
Woman: “Seriously, do you even f***ing know how to drive?”
(Since I can’t remember what details I need from her, I decide to ask for her contact details.)
Me: “Can I have your name and phone number?”
Woman: “Why the f*** do you want that?”
Me: “For insurance.”
Woman: “I want yours first. What’s your number?”
Me: *tells her my phone number* “And what’s yours?”
Woman: “No, I’m going to call you. Take out your phone. Take out your f***ing phone from your car and—“
Me: “I’m holding it… in my hand…”
(She proceeds to ring my phone, and I save her number and name. I can only assume she thought I was giving her a fake number for some reason. Afterwards, I go home and call my parents. They tell me to ask her for her insurance company and address.)
Me: *in a text* “Hi, could I grab the details of your insurance company and your address please?”
Woman: *texting me back* “I’ll meet u at the police station at 4 pm.”
Me: *in text, after asking my mum what to say* “Unfortunately I am now too far away to make it to the station at that time.”
(She then calls me, with both her and her husband on the line.)
Husband: “I hear you were going too fast in the car park, hey?”
Me: “No, I wasn’t doing more than 20km/h. Your wife was parked behind a large van, and visibility in that car park is shocking. It happens. I just need your insurance details.”
Husband: “But you were going too fast.”
Me: “It doesn’t matter who was going too fast; that’s for the insurance companies to care about. Your wife didn’t see me. It’s fine.”
Wife: “But you were in the middle of the road.”
Husband: “Oh, you were driving on the wrong side of the road?”
Me: “I was driving in the middle of the car park’s lane, so I could see on both sides. That probably didn’t help your wife see me.”
Husband: “But were you on the right, or the wrong side of the road?”
Me: “I was in the middle.”
Husband: “So you were on the wrong side?”
Me: “I was in the middle.”
Husband: “Well—“
Me: “Look, I just need your insurance company and your address. It’s what my parents are telling me to get.”
Wife: “We’ll meet you at the police station.”
Me: “I can’t make it to the police station—“
Wife: “Well, that’s too bad, isn’t it?”
Me: “Look, I’ll get my mum to call you, okay?”
(I proceed to do that. My mum is pretty renowned for her arguing ability. Ten minutes later she texts me back.)
Mum: “Got their details. What a bunch of f***ers.”
(We examine the dent later. It’s not big, and hasn’t damaged anything other than the panel. But my car is pretty crappy – the front bumper is held on by zip ties – so we decide there’s no point fixing it. The next day, I get a call from mum.)
Mum: “So, they already tried to lodge a claim against you. But their insurance decided they were at fault, since they were, and I got a phone call today saying they’d pay us whatever the cost of fixing it was.”
Me: “I thought we weren’t fixing it?”
Mum: “Normally we wouldn’t, but that woman was a nightmare. So I’m booking you in with the panel beaters for some time next week!”
(It doesn’t pay to be rude!)