dude, why my car?

You may know that not too long ago I was involved in a rear end collision. I will add at this point that I was only joking about that whole neck brace for a Red Sox victory thing. I will also add that the World Series is over and the Red Sox won.

The damage to the car from the accident on that fateful day wasn't so bad, but it was definitely a pain in the ass to deal with insurance, have numerous calls with adjusters, take the car in, wait for it to get fixed, blah, blah, blah. But luckily last Friday we got the Matrix back, with a spankin new bumper, all shiny and new. I even got some new stickers in the mail last week from Positive Negative for my magnificent new bumper. Alas, it was not meant to be.

I carpooled in with Greg today, because my bum ear makes driving a little rough. But as the day wore on I realized that I was feeling pretty wonky and probably wouldn't be able to last the required work hours, let alone the gym. (And Greg's simply had to go to the gym, Urban Challenge is this weekend!) So I gave Alex a call and asked if he would drive all the way out to San Mateo to pick up a dizzy lady like myself. Being the fantastic husband that he is, he arrived promptly at 5:35. With a hatchback full of groceries we headed back to the East Bay and on our way Alex told me about an accident which happened earlier on the bridge, how the sunset made the bay look extraordinary on his way over and that we would have macaroni and cheese for dinner. All of a sudden the conversation came to a complete stop, just like the traffic. I noticed more than one car slam on their breaks. Alex followed suit, and I have to admit I did the patented pessimistic double handle grab I learned from my Mom. As we finally rested safely behind the car before us and I began to release my white knuckled grip on the oh shit handle, I noticed Alex looking in the rear view mirror. I sensed his fear and then realized it was all over. The new bumper, gone. About a half mile from where I lost the last one.

Unfuckingbelievable.

We got out of the car to look at the very badly damaged front end of the Lincoln Towncar behind us. I was pretty nice to the last guy who smashed up my car, but this dude never had a chance. Before I even turned around to see what kind of car it was or who was driving it I was already slamming my door and muttering the word fuckface. When I finally did look at him I saw that he was a chauffeur who had some passengers in the back; a nervous looking woman, a man with tinted glasses and a dog. The man in the back seat was holding what looked like a prize winning dog and the woman was gathering up a dog bed and trying to reestablish passenger safety. After I checked out my ruined bumper for the second time in less than a month, I diligently wrote down all our insurance information (most of it now memorized) on one handy sheet of paper. In return the chauffeur grabbed about 7 years worth of paperwork out of his glove box and said "here" as he handed it to Alex. This wad of papers resulted in the three of us standing near the concrete barriers on the freeway, in front of fuckface's car, which he didn't even bother to pull all the way into the breakdown lane, trying to find insurance information by the light of the Lincoln's dismembered headlight. This proved to be more difficult than I had imagined because the chauffeur didn't speak English very well and kept pulling out the registration for the car. Alex and I also asked to see his driver license numerous times, but he never produced one, he just kept pointing at the name on the papers. Then the chauffeur answered his phone and wanted Alex to talk to the livery boss who was currently on the line. He handed his phone to Alex, without unplugging the earpiece, and Alex USED it. (I think that might have been the most scarring part of the entire experience for both of us.) It turned out that livery boss was pretty serious about not going through his insurance. He said we should call him later and he'll take care of everything. The most educational part of this phone call was the part where Alex and I noticed that the livery boss and the chauffeur had the exact same name. The jig was up. I asked the driver to spell his name for me. He was clearly irritated and quickly shouted out a bunch of letters in my face, then he said sorry as he gestured to what used to be our bumper, got into his car with the prize winning dog and drove away.

Alex and I finally made it home, an hour and a half after he came to pick me up. I did some Google searches on the limo company and the insurance information they gave us while Alex called the shady livery boss, who said he has a great auto body shop that will do whatever we want. Alex promptly hung up and placed the claim with our insurance company.

The interesting part about this whole car being marred or stolen crap we keep going through is the pattern Alex noticed tonight: First the Saturn was stolen when I was alone, the next time we were together. Then I get rear ended in the Matrix alone, then Alex and I get rear ended together. Both times the car was stolen it was near a Barnes and Noble. Both rear end collisions happened on the same stretch of road. These incidents happened during even numbered years. What does it mean?

Alright, I admit that isn't really interesting, and I'm pretty sure that it doesn't mean anything. But at this point I'm going to pretend it means something, because otherwise I'm just unlucky, and that's too much of a burden for me to bear. At least I'm not in it alone... I insist on dragging Alex down with me.