A few years ago, I came home from a New Year’s party, walked past my car and suddenly stopped. I did not have a convertible, but the roof looked quite, well, missing. It turns out that a huge slab of ice detached from the roof of the house I was parked under and hit my car squarely on the roof so it was lying basically flush on the back seats, essentially totaling it since it was about 20 years old and barely able to pass inspection anymore. The total worth of the car was, maybe, if I was lucky, 100 bucks. More likely, the worth was negative because it costs to take it to the dump.

I took pictures, got the police to record everything, and handed my claim for the replacement of the car to the owner of the apartment building. To my surprise, he refused to pay. I handed the whole mess to my lawyer, he said we’d win this, and off he went.

Come September, my lawyer called. We’d won, and got me 800 bucks for my car — worth, again, maybe 10). But, in his words, “those insane idiots” could not have done it worse. In the lawsuit, of course, the question arose about how could that ice slab even happen? After all, if there had a person in my car, an ice slab caving in a car roof could easily have killed them.

Turns out, the apartment building didn’t have certain gadgets on the roof that are mandatory for buildings taller than four stories to prevent such things from happening. Why didn’t it have those gadgets?

Because, according to what the town — and hence building inspectors — knew, the apartment was only two stories tall.

So, not only was the company owning it in violation of the building code — by itself something that is very expensive if you get found out — our tax guys were very interested in them suddenly having way more apartments to let than he “officially” had.

In the words of my lawyer, “Seriously, if I pulled that stunt, I’d hand you ten grand for your 20-year-old wreck of a car and tell you to shut the eff up about it.”

(In our area, we’ve had a high number of scam calls claiming to be [Power Company] and demanding payment. It’s so common that the actual power company has added a warning on their website.)

Me: “Hello?”

Scammer: “Hello, this is [Scammer] with [Power Company]–”

Me: “Oh, no, ma’am, we don’t have power. We’re Amish.”

Scammer: “…” *click*

(This happened earlier today, so it’ll be interesting to see if that actually gets me off the list.)

(Our house is extremely popular with phone marketers, scammers, etc. On this particular day, my dad is in the hospital undergoing surgery to have a pacemaker installed for having extreme brachycardia. He’s “died” a lot over the years to the point where my sister and I just kind of got over it as it was a regular occurrence. I’m at home when I get a phone call. The number is local and I assume it’s a friend of the family calling to inquire about my dad.)

Me: “Hello.”

Telemarketer: “Hi, I was calling to inquire about whether [Father] would be interested in purchasing one of our cemetery plots.”

(Knowing this is a scam, I put on some fake waterworks.)

Me: “Do you mean my dad didn’t survive the surgery? Oh, my God! Nobody told me anything! I know his heart was weak, but they said he would make it through no problem!”

(I begin to sob, and I can tell the person at the other end is extremely uncomfortable.)

Telemarketer: “I am so sorry; we had no idea about the situation. I can call back at another less delicate time.”

Me: “MY DAD JUST DIED AND ALL YOU CARE ABOUT IS A SALE!”

(They ended up hanging up and we never received another call from them again. It’s been about five years now since that surgery and we haven’t needed that plot yet. I get that it is nice to prepare ahead, but the timing of it all was just too much.)

(It’s been a bad day; my father had a stroke yesterday and is having brain surgery today, and I am nine months pregnant with my third child and just a had a scary meeting with a mean doctor wanting to induce me. I’m stressed, tired, and emotional. I’m sitting in my parked car, gathering my thoughts, when a truck drives past too close and scrapes my car. It keeps driving, so I leap out of the car and wave it down; it’s hard to miss me in my current state. The driver gets out of the car. He looks barely sixteen — not old enough to drive that big a truck.)

Me: “Um, you scraped my car.”

Driver: “Oh, sorry.”

(Due to my state of mind, I don’t remember all the details I am supposed to get. We take a photo of each other’s licenses, which confirms the driver is sixteen, and the damage on my car. I’m trying to be nice because the guy is so young.)

Me: “Okay, well, I hope your day gets better from here.”

Driver: “I don’t know. I’m having a pretty bad day.”

(Thinking of my poor dad and looking at my pregnant tummy, I decide to ignore that, and we part ways. Seconds after he drives away, I realize I don’t have a phone number or the truck’s registration. I call my husband in a panic; he writes a letter to the driver asking for the details and sends it to the address on the license. He quickly receives an emailed response stating the driver “wasn’t at fault that night” — it happened at nine am — and that I had told him I wouldn’t be pursuing the matter — I never did — and he refuses to give the information. We’re at a loss what to do. Without the truck registration, the insurance company will have to charge us excess for the repairs, which we don’t want to pay. The insurance company suggests physically visiting the address or contacting the local police. I go for the latter option and visit the local police station. The police officer takes all the details, then spends ten minutes on her computer and phone before coming back to me.)

Police Officer: “Well, I couldn’t find a phone number for him, but I did find his mum. So I’ve spoken to her and she’s going to have a talk to him.”

(The insurance company had the details within hours. It still makes me chuckle imagining that boy getting a bollocking from his mum for his irresponsibility. In the meantime, my dad made a full recovery and my baby was born without any drama.)

(I’m heading to pick my daughter up from school when I come to a four-way stop. I stop and wait my turn and then slowly pull into the intersection. The driver on my left also starts to go but not as slowly. I slam on the brakes, but they do not, and they hit me. There’s not much damage. I’m not super angry until I exit the vehicle and the other driver starts to lay into me.)

Driver: “What the f*** do you think you’re doing? Do you not know how a stop sign works?”

Me: *already over this situation* “It was my turn. I went. I’m going to call the police and my insurance company.”

Driver: “You’d better call the police, because if I do you’re going to jail!”

(I sit in my car and call the police, and then call my husband to pick up our daughter. The other driver stands in the road screaming into his phone about the “stupid b****” who destroyed his car. Eventually, the police pull up to the scene.)

Driver: “Thank God! Y’all need to handle this girl; she’s been cussing and causing a scene since she hit me!”

Officer: “She seems calm enough. For now, sir, let me get your details and a statement for the accident report, and then we can get y’all moved out of the road.”

(The driver goes on to tell the officer that I came flying through the stop sign and plowed into his vehicle.)

Officer: “Okay, sir, is that your official statement on how this accident occurred?”

Driver: “Yes! That’s how it happened!”

Officer: “All right, then. [My Name]! Did [Husband] ever install that dash cam he got for you?”

Me: “Yeah, it was on. I just have to load the footage on a computer.”

Officer: “I’ll see if it will work on the one in the car. Is [Husband] already on his way or do you need me to get him on the radio?”

Me: “No, he’s picking up [Daughter]; that’s where I was headed.”

(The other driver started to pale when he realized what was going on. The video footage clearly showed that I’d stopped and that it was my turn to go. It also showed the other driver on his phone when he gunned it into the intersection. I chose not to press charges and let his insurance company deal with him.)