A Holiday Shakedown

My crude diagram of the accident. I'm the heart car,
the Ford SUV is the asterick and the square
 behind me was the one that nudged me. 

I spent the morning with Chef--out and about. Doing some gift card spending and having a good ole time. We had picked up lunch and were heading back into the house when my phone rang. It wasn't a number that I recognized but it was from LA, so I picked it up. It could've been a client or someone work-related.

It was neither. The guy said "I'm Martin X. Ben's dad. You remember? Last week. . ." The signal was bad, the call dropped, and I couldn't discern who it was. I was trying to rack my brain thinking if I had been working with some kids lately at a charity, and frankly I couldn't think of a "Ben" to save my life. A few steps later, my phone rang again.

And here's where things got interesting.

A few weeks ago I was on my way to a work event in bumper-to-bumper (aka normal LA rush hour) traffic. The car to my left, a Ford SUV-type, was in a left hand turn lane, but their butt was sticking out so I couldn't move. The cars in front of me had gone on the green light, but I was still blocked. Apparently the car behind me didn't care. A black sedan, probably a Prius but I couldn't remember, nudged me forward. I knew I had been hit, and stopped but didn't realize that my car's driver side mirror had hit the taillight of the car who was blocking my lane. The black sedan took off around me and I got out to check my car. A few scrapes on the back bumper, a scrape on my side mirror and then I saw the Ford SUV had a broken taillight. I got the driver to pull over, I pulled over, we exchanged information, and I went on to my work event. A little rattled and a lot pissed that after 12 years with no insurance claims, poor Liam Nissan had two claims within 5 weeks. I also waved my fist at every black Prius that I saw, which was a lot because it's LA and everyone drives a Prius.

I knew the driver of the Ford SUV was mentally challenged in some way. I didn't know what in particular, but I tried my best to make sure he had everything he needed and I did too. He said the policy was under his dad's name and that his dad would probably get a hold of me.

And his dad did. But not before calling my insurance company. The Ford SUV had called my insurance company before I could even call them and alert them. I wasn't going to file a claim for a scrape, but gave my testimony, uploaded pictures of my car, the Ford, etc.  And then I thought I was done.

But the driver's dad called me today---more than three weeks after the accident, and asked me for $150 for the damages to his son'ts car. He kept saying that I was at fault and that I just needed to pay him and that he just went to get an estimate today and that's what took so long.

It felt wrong. He felt pushy and I KNEW that someone on his end had already alerted my insurance company. I told him that I was not admitting fault, that he had already filed a claim with my insurance company and I wasn't going to pay him if he still has something pending against me. Martin told me that they hadn't called my insurance company at all. That he had no idea how my insurance would have their information. He closed by saying "My son is autistic. You know you are at fault. But fine. Do whatever. I'll assume you will call me back to take care of this."

I called my insurance company and the long and short of it is that they denied his son's claim because it was determined that it wasn't my fault. So his insurance company would have to cover it. That no one on that end should have contacted me at all. My insurance company (who I love!) gave me a copy of the denial letter in case he called me again.

I have a feeling he won't be calling back. I might've had some sympathy if he had been honest, but the total ambush about month after the fact AND after the denial really pushed my limits.

What to do when you come home to three TV camera crews outside your apartment

The police let Chef get really close to the wreck. 

If you're me, you first wonder: what the hell are these people doing here? Then "I hope there wasn't a mass murder in my apartment complex." Then "I should just ask because I'm a PR person and journalists just LOVE when we get all inquisitive and shit."

Earlier in the day, there had been an accident on the street outside our apartment. And by "outside our apartment," I mean the 4 lane boulevard that is about 25 feet from our windows. It's a nice street, has steady but not heavy traffic, and is a straightaway. All of these reasons make it the perfect place for the customs shop at the end of the block to test out the godawful, loud and mostly illegal creations they put together. On a daily and sometime nightly basis, we would hear the startling sounds of loud, engines peeling out at about 100 mph. Sometimes accompanied by a pop.

On this occasion, the pop was not the usual nitrous tank reserve, but the car blowing a tire, then proceeding jump the middle median, take out several small trees, flip upside down and land on its roof from the furthest lane over from hence it began.

Luckily, the only person hurt was the a-hole that was driving the thing. Someone in the neighborhood spotted a guy form the customs shop coming out and removing the nitrous tank before the police showed up. The street was closed for about 5 hours.

I guess a slow Saturday in news plus the Fast and the Furious 6 tie-in were too much for our news stations to handle. They even did live shots from literally feet from my bedroom window, even though the action had been over for hours. (FYI the photos show the opposite side of the street. Our complex is bigger and looks a little more. . . .updated)

Here's the news story and some additional pics that Chef took:

The street racing car- photo by Chef

The guy who was driving survived, but was in bad shape. Photo by Chef

Ordeal for a license plate

Today I worked from home so that  I could go and get my license plate and register my car in California. I'm officially sad about this. I hated changing my Indiana plates for Tennessee ones when I moved, but the fact that Tennessee had an IU license plate buffered that transition. Now I'm losing my Tennessee and IU car connections. Bummer.

And to make matters worse, I go to the registration branch of the DMV and am told that my car needs to be inspected and to pull it along the side of the building and wait. If it weren't for a very nice security guard, I might've waited there all day. But he helped, got inspected and I was ushered inside. I get my number sit in my chair and only have to wait about 10 minutes. Holy crap! I thought. Today's my lucky day! But it wasn't until I got up the window that troubles began. I handed the lady my current Tennessee registration.

Lady at window #13: No, I need your registration card.

Me: This is my registration card. It's from Tennessee.

#13: I see it's from Tennessee but it says "application" at the top. I need the little card that actually is your registration.

Me: This is my registration. I promise you.

#13: No, it's not.

Me: I lived there for 9 years. Every time I was given a registration-all 9 times--this was it. When I was pulled over by a cop, I handed him this.

She then heavy sighs and goes to find a thick book. She consults the book and says "this isn't your registration. I can start your papers today, but you'll have to bring back your registration." I wasn't going to take that so while she was typing away, I called the County Clerk in Nashville and got a very nice lady who when told of my predicament said "Ugh. California calls us about 5 times a week because they refuse to post our samples. The book they look in hasn't been updated in decades."

Me: So if I asked you for a registration card, what would that look like?

TN lady: Exactly what you're holding in your hand. That's your registration.  They do this all the TIME! I'm gonna fax your registration and a blank one. Put me on with your person.

Me to #13: She wants to talk to you. The TN registration person. . .

#13: I can't get on the phone.

Me: But she wants to fax the info to you and talk to you about updating your records.

#13: I can't talk on the phone.

Me to TN: She won't get on the phone.

TN: Of course, she won't Sorry, I'm not fussin' at you (which I LOVED by the way). I'll fax that right now.

I pay and go back to wait while they wait on my fax. Fax comes through, I go BACK up to the window to hear: Okay, all you have to do is bring in your smog test and we'll give you your plates.

Me: I called this office yesterday to ask if I needed a smog test and was told I wouldn't because my car was within the 6 year window.

#13: But you're new to the state, so you'd have to get one.

Me: SERIOUSLY??! I specifcially called to get this answered and what you're telling me is that they gave me wrong information.

#13: Yes. Get your smog check and then come back.

At this point, I'm about to go ape shit, but I just huff out, go get a smog check and then wait in line to get a number, and then wait in line to see a representative. Who then took my paperwork and says "This isn't the Tennessee registration card." Five more minutes of explanation and then I FINALLY get my license plates. Yes, plates, because California is one of those places that makes you have one on front and one on back.

Total time getting this stupid errand done: 2 hours, 54 minutes.

I miss Tennessee. And Indiana.