The car was taken to the shop yesterday, which is good, but I’m hitching rides everywhere, which is bad. I’m trying to get a rental covered by the other party’s insurance, but the owner of the plow that cut me off is fighting like a bastard. So far he has not only told the insurance company that there was no damage to my car (the owner was not at the scene of the accident, so go figure), visited Gino and my car at the shop to view the damage, and has threatened his own insurance agent with bodily harm for putting in the claim.

To hear someone else’s agent say that they’re own insured can “go pound sand,” struck me as really funny.

So on the ride home yesterday, I found myself imagining the guy showing up at my door and me beating him with a baseball bat. Then, I’d go to jail. Then his brother would send someone with a sharpened toothbrush… Bla bla bla. Escalation, escalation, escalation. All over a fender bender. That all led me to thinking about a friend of a friend of a friend who got shot a number of times because he simply took some a-hole’s parking spot.

It made me sit there and think that life is pretty fucked up, and the feeling took a while to shake.

Posted in Cars, Philosophical BS