Not Being Dead, Car Accidents & Mountains

I’m not dead. Just lazy.

A lot has been going on in my life since my last blog entry, but none of those things are a good excuse for this long hiatus. I have no job and, in light of recent transpirations, no transportation to get myself distracted by the world. (OK, I lied. I have transportation, but it isn’t my usual choice for locomotion.) I think most people reading this know what happened, but for those who don’t: I was in a car accident, and have been bumming rides/cars/pedaling myself around town for the last two weeks. I say car accident but, in all actuality, it was more of a fender bender – a fender bender that I was deemed responsible for and ticketed $200 as a result. (This on top of my $500 dollar deductible that I had to pay to my insurance company to have my car repaired.) Did I mention yet in this entry that I don’t have a job? This all happened on the 11th of July.

Just in case you’ve never been in a car accident, I will give you a rundown of what happens. First, your vehicle somehow comes in contact with the other vehicle. You are probably freaking out at this point, but you somehow manage to figure out if you’re injured or not. If you aren’t injured, you move your car if you can and then proceed to step out of the vehicle to survey the damage. (If you’re me, you stop momentarily to admire the fact that your bumper was torn from the front of your vehicle.) If you’re lucky, the other person isn’t a douche bag. The next thing you will do, fingers crossed, is ask if the other person is OK. If they say yes, remember this because they will probably bitch and moan about it later. Then, you call your insurance company and they tell you what to do from there. Once all of the information needed to make an insurance claim is traded, a police officer (that nobody called) ninjas his way to the scene of the accident and makes sure to call every authority possible to deal with the fender bender. (Including a very large fire truck which could probably be doing something more useful like, you know, fighting fires.) Once you’ve dealt with at least 3 police officers (two of which are probably hilarious though you don’t know if it’s OK to laugh with them after they have issued you a citation) you are free to go. Luckily for you, all of this happened within 1 block of your home and you can just drive your once adorable, but now terribly disfigured, subcompact back to your parking lot where it will sit in shame for two days while you wait for an insurance adjuster to make contact. (An insurance adjuster who, might I add, only needs to make a phone call or two to get your car to the body shop and never actually needs to come look at the vehicle.)

Once your disfigured subcompact is at the body shop, it’s a waiting game. You wait for phone calls that never come, and then you call them to figure out what the hell is going on. After they make every excuse possible, they tell you they will have an estimate within 24 hours, and they of course don’t so you call again. After you call them, again, they tell you that they will call you by the end of the day with the estimate. The end of the day comes, the estimate is not done, and the call never comes so you call them in a fury and demand answers to questions, questions that are met by a douche bag who doesn’t give a shit about you or your vehicle. The next morning, you’re told that your vehicle will be done by Monday. Unfortunately, Monday is now over and you’re sitting at a computer in the wee hours of the morning blogging about it. Oh.. and nobody ever called you to tell you the car would definitely not be finished on time. (Moral of this little rant? Never, ever, take your vehicle to Auto-tech Collision Center in Tacoma, Washington.)

While my life has been hectic in my down time it hasn’t been busy. In fact, on the Saturday following the accident, I attempted to walk up a freakin’ mountain. Mind you, I did not make it, but I still had the time to attempt it. You know what is even worse about me not making it up? A dog with three legs made it to the top and I didn’t. I’m sure that three legged bastard gloated all the way to the top.

If I have time to attempt to walk up a mountain, then I have time to blog.

Stephen Battey

Stephen Battey

Stephen is a 25 year old amateur photographer, blogger, and husband from Tacoma, Washington. He shares a cute ass house with his husband, cat, and two dogs. He generally hates all weather patterns.

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