Earlier this month, a woman backed into me in the Safeway parking lot. I tried to beep, but she kept going. And there was a little *boom*. She got out of her car and looked really angry, like it was my fault that I was in her car’s way, when she had more than enough orienteering room and all she had to do was *look back*. I told her this as I parked. She started crying and saying that she had only four hours of sleep. I figured that I should be the calmer person in this ordeal. We exchanged information and I told her I would be giving her a call after I got some estimates. After I got four estimates, I gave her a call. I called for about two weeks before Mike got really pissed about it and left her a message saying that if she didn’t call back in 48 hours then we would report it to the police. (My man has my back. He’s my hero!)
Surely enough, she called back in 10 minutes with some excuse about how she was on vacation, someone was sick, there’s no need to go to the police… blah blah… (Insert the “whatever” sign here) We decided to meet at the Starbucks inside the Safeway to go over the estimates. Mike had to be in North Seattle, so I sat there alone, trying to remember what she looked like. When she arrived, she had her boyfriend in tow, which was perfectly expected if she thought I was bringing Mike along.
Women, go figure.
I remained calm either way, since I had two people against me. We went over the figures and she started saying, “I should only have to pay for part of this, since I only made part of the damage.” (There was a side scratch, which I pointed out to her that night) I thought, great, this is exactly what I need: more drama. But I didn’t say anything and I took both of them out to see my car. She looked at it and said, “Oh, this is it? I thought it was purple!” Her boyfriend examined the bumper and agreed with my explanation that her backing-up into me caused the paint to start flicking off. I was willing to split the costs and had begun to divide the figure when she said, “Should I write you a check?”
And out of all of this, despite almost screwing me over and toting her boyfriend as an intimidation prop, she didn’t seem that bad. We had the same kind of black Kate Spade purse (though it wasn’t appropriate to discuss accessories). Her voice was a few octaves too high for her age but she could have been my sister’s classmate. Maybe in a different setting we could have been friendly, but still.
She backed into me, after all.