Making A Mad Dash On The Dash-Cam

, , , , , , , | Friendly | January 15, 2018

(I drive heavy goods vehicles for a company that primarily delivers farm equipment. Due to the nature of who we deliver to, we often wind up on roads that aren’t, strictly speaking, designed to accommodate vehicles that are 60 feet long. As such, a certain degree of understanding from anyone coming the opposite direction is needed, since my vehicle generally takes up so much of the road that passing is only possible via them staying in an entrance to a field, or the rare dedicated passing spot that small rural roads sometimes have. I have just completed my delivery to a large farm and I am leaving the site, followed by several vehicles from said farm. I am roughly halfway between the farm and the passing point when a twenty-something woman drives past the passing point at speed and continues down the lane to come to a stop barely five feet in front of me. I know, given the size of my vehicle and the numerous vehicles behind me, that I can’t possibly get out of her way, so I simply wind down my window and wait for her to make a move.)

Woman: *getting out of car* “You need to move.”

Me: “The lane’s too tight for me to manoeuvre to the side, and I can’t back up because there’s vehicles behind me. You’re going to have to back up to the passing point.”

Woman: “I don’t care how hard it is for you; I’m not moving, so you’ll have to.”

(Knowing that sooner or later someone in the vehicles behind me will come along to back me up, I opt to just stare her down rather than trying to argue with her.)

Woman: “Well? Come on! I have to get moving! Get out of the way. I own the f****** farm! I have right of way. Move, NOW!”

(After another couple minutes of this, someone from the convoy behind me finally comes up to support me, and it’s clear he has little love for the stroppy woman in front of us.)

Farm Man: “[Woman], what are you playing at? There’s a line of cars behind this lorry. We aren’t all backing up for you, so back yourself up to the passing point.”

Woman: “I’m not moving. I own the farm so I have right of way!”

Farm Man: “Your uncle owns the farm. You don’t even live here; you just show up to ride horses a couple times a week. We aren’t all moving for you. Back up.”

Woman: “I’ll just tell [Uncle] and get you fired if you don’t move.”

Farm Man: “There’s over a dozen people in this queue. Apart from this guy here in the lorry, all of us work at the farm. Good luck with that.”

(With this, he turns and walks back to his car, and the woman, finally realising an entire convoy isn’t going to whisk itself out of her way, gets back into her car and starts backing up. The distance back to the passing point is perhaps 1/4 of a mile with a couple mild turns; even reversing slowly it should take no more than two or three minutes to make it back. I slowly follow after her, keeping about 50 feet away from her at all times. All seems to be fine until she arrives at the first bend in the lane. After several failed attempts at getting round it in reverse, she seemingly loses all patience, slams on the accelerator, and crashes backwards through a wooden fence, all captured by my dash-cam. Before I’ve even pulled up to where she crashed, she’s out of her car and screaming at me that I have destroyed her car.)

Woman: “You f****** a**hole! You’ve crashed my car! You can f****** pay for repairs, you c***!”

Me: “You managed that all by yourself; clearly you aren’t injured, so I’ll be on my way now.”

Woman: “Don’t you dare drive off. I’ll have your job, you b******! I’ll report you to your boss!”

Me: “The company phone number is on the side of the cab. I do have dash-cam footage of you putting yourself through that fence, though, so maybe think twice before you ring up. Goodbye.”

(I then drive off past her, ignoring the further ranting, and noting with a certain amount of satisfaction that not one of the vehicles behind me makes any attempt to stop and help her. About an hour later my boss rings me.)

Boss: “I’ve just had a complaint about you from a very angry woman saying you threw her out of her car and crashed it backwards through a fence because she wouldn’t get out of your way. Care to explain it for me?”

Me: “She managed it all by herself. I never even left the cab, and I certainly didn’t fling her from her car. I’ll be back at base in about four hours. You can check the dash-cam footage, but there’s no way anyone could say it was any fault but hers.”

(I got back to base. My boss had a look at the footage, concluded that the accident was no one’s fault but the woman’s, and proceeded to rip her a new one on the phone about abusing his staff and making fake claims against them. She did then try to go through insurance about it, but again, once they’d seen the footage, they shut her down. I do have to wonder, looking back, how self-entitled someone has to be to first demand that an entire convoy of vehicles move for you, and then somehow blame me for her own shoddy driving when she backed through a fence, and THEN be so full of themselves to fabricate a story about it even after I’d warned her that all of it was recorded by my dash-cam.)

Don’t Get Mailboxed In

, , , , | Related | January 14, 2018

(My mom and I are going to give up one of our dogs to a home where she’ll be better cared for. Despite my protests, my mom decides to drive without her glasses. As we’re pulling out of the driveway, we hear a loud “THUNK” and she stops. I look back and notice something gone.)

Me: “Mom! I think you hit the mailbox!”

Mom: “Oh, it’s fine!”

Me: “I CAN’T EVEN SEE IT! You knocked over the mailbox!”

Mom: “Actually, I think I did.”

(My mom calls my stepfather to help her look at the damage whilst I sit in the car with the dog. Sure enough, not only is the mailbox knocked over, it’s broken in half. After getting it set back up so we can fix it later, we drive away. I decide to poke fun at her.)

Me: “How did you manage to hit the only thing in the driveway and break it?!”

Mom: “I didn’t see it!”

Me: “IT IS THE ONLY THING THERE!”

Mom: “Oh, it was a mistake!”

Me: “Well, next time you pull out, don’t hit any mailboxes!”

Mom: “But there isn’t one where we’re going!”

Me: “Knowing you, you’d still somehow hit one.”

Guardian Angel: Roadside Assistance

, , , , | Hopeless | January 13, 2018

(I am driving along a country road in unusually cold and snowy weather when I skid on a patch of ice and crash through a hedge. I have my two kids in the car with me, and we are unhurt, but pretty shaken up. We get out of the car and, sure enough, it is utterly stuck. The weather is very, very cold, it is starting to get dark, and we aren’t dressed for it. I try to phone my husband to get him to come and rescue us, but there is no reply. I decide to ring the rescue service, but I know they’ll take an hour or so to get there. Just as I am starting to get really worried, a van drives past, reverses, and pulls up alongside us. I tense up, realising we are pretty vulnerable, out there in the middle of nowhere. A tall, muscular-looking woman wearing muddy manual labour clothing gets out and comes over to us. She gives us a cheerful smile, as if seeing us made her day.)

Woman: “I’ve got some ropes in the van; would you like me to haul you out?”

Me: “Oh, yes, please, if you could!”

Woman: “Are you all okay? Anybody hurt?”

Me: “No, we’re fine.”

Woman: *to my kids* “I bet you’re cold, though. Hang on…”

(She goes and rummaged in her cabin and gets out two fluffy blankets with cute cartoon owls on them. She kneels down — in the snow! — and talks to my kids.)

Woman: “These are for you, if you want them.”

(My son and daughter, a bit shocked and shy about this strange woman, look at me, and I nod. They take the blankets gratefully and wrap themselves up in them.)

Woman: “Right, let’s get you out.”

(She quickly gets our car roped up to her van and easily pulls it backwards out of the hedge and back onto the road. It is such a huge relief when I am able to start the engine successfully.)

Woman: “Have you got far to go?”

Me: “We’re just going to [Nearby Town].”

Woman: “Is it okay if I escort you? Just to make sure your car isn’t damaged?”

Me: “Uh, yes, please.”

Woman: “Okay, I was heading that way, anyway. I’ll follow you.”

(Sure enough, the car was fine, and she waved goodbye when we got into town. What I really regret, and why I’m writing this, is that I never said, “Thank you.” I was too shaken up by the whole thing. So, if you’re reading this, mysterious lady, many thanks; you might have saved our lives. My daughter is now in her teens and still has the blanket with the owls on it. She says her guardian angel gave it to her.)

It’s Time To Mace Your Fears

, , , , | Friendly | January 13, 2018

(I am driving to my friend’s church while I am staying with her. I have never been there before and don’t understand my friend’s bad handwriting. I drive up to a young woman on the sidewalk and wind down the window. We are the only ones here and I am a woman.)

Me: “Hi, could you tell me the way to—”

(The woman backs up several feet and stares wide-eyed at me.)

Woman: *shouting* “Tell your boyfriend to back off because I have bear mace!”

(She then started running down the street and around the corner. I looked behind me, and the only other person was a much older man who I presume had come out of a nearby house, around a hundred yards away. I never saw the woman again and don’t know what she meant.)

Purebred Ignorance

, , , , , , , | Friendly | January 8, 2018

(I’m in the car with my ex and his new girlfriend. We are in our 20s, and although she is nice, she sometimes seems kind of… airheaded.)

New Girlfriend: “…so, my grandparents had two Dalmatians and they had puppies. But one of them was a black lab. Have you ever heard of that? A purebred black lab from two Dalmatians?!”

Me: *trying not to laugh, while keeping a straight face towards the road* “Yeah, I’ve never heard of that. A purebred.”

Ex: *in backseat face-palming*

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