Inspired by @sterlinluxan's post - read that.

So this was a few years back. For a little background, I speed pretty much everywhere, and I'm not afraid to admit that. Once, I got a letter from the DMV, roughly insisting that "even though [I] thought [my] driving was safe, it is considered reckless" and that my license may be suspended or revoked should I continue. So I continued, but didn't maintain my car well enough for that level of use, and the engine failed massively, after which I sold it for scrap. This story isn't about that though.

I was commuting to my shitty fast food job in one of these cars. Not this one - not gonna fall into that sorta trap. The Suzuki SX4 isn't the best (or most masculine) car, but it did the trick, and with a Mustang motor built in to handle the AWD, it was relatively fast for its profile and weight, as it stood. So normally, I'd pass everyone I could, and try to speed everywhere, just for the thrill of it, but also, because I'm a chronic procrastinator, and I'd push leaving until the last moment. This means a lot of (very temporary) tailgating.

But I was commuting, and I came up on the back of this truck, and the driver was moving rather slowly, well below speed limit, and normally I'd pass, but they had something loaded, and it was moving. Bits of whatever were flying off the back of their truck, solid bits, which I tried to avoid. But then, this big thing bounces off the back, and shatters of the pavement, and even though I tried to swerve outta the way, the biggest chunk rolled under my car with sickening noises.

So I pull off at a known turnout, and assessed the damage. Shredded tire, bullet-sized holes in two places, a bent frame, dented bumper and wheelwell, and a shredded undercarriage. And I was upset. I loved driving, and my car could be far worse off than I thought. Maybe it was undriveable. But the driver had pulled over, and his son and he got out. He had a mixture of a facial expression of hurt, embarrassment, and apology, and I knew there was no malice. So I calmed myself.

We all got to picking up the pieces of his tablesaw, which turned out to be what took the big bang. His son had apparently secured it poorly, as I found out, which was likely taken out of his hide later (poor soul), and both of them acted completely respectfully, and apologetically, to the point where my rage was only slightly above normal levels when the truck was loaded.

We got back to my car, and looked at it, and he asked me, "so are we calling the cops?" I had never been in a collision before, while I was the driver, so I had no idea what proper legal protocol here was, but my car had CopBlock stickers on it, and Ron Paul 2012 stickers on the front and back so needless to say, I didn't fuckin care about that. So I told them no, which the two were both shocked and relieved by.

I pulled out a camera for picturetaking included in my insurance package, and handed it to him, who took all necessary pics, and we waited for my AAA to tow my car to a local shop. I had a case of Nitrous Monsters in my car, and we talked about libertarianism, and police accntability, as I explained why I didn't want to call the cops. GEICO, the man's insurance company, handled everything in a couple weeks, and I borrowed someone else's car to get to work. My car was repaired to a condition better than what I had it at in the beginning, and ran like a charm.

The moral of the story? Chill, grab a Monster, and don't call cops. Because this is what happens when you call the cops.

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