Is it my imagination or have drivers in the Pittsburgh area gotten worse over the years? I mean they have never been great but more and more I have noticed that red lights and the lines painted on the ground have become optional. My car has been hit three times in the past six months and twice within a two week period. I can't figure out if it's bad luck on my part or if there's some other reason that my car has become a punching bag for dipshits.
Back in November, some hipster millennial decided to make a right turn from the left lane during rush hour. He successfully cut off the person behind me but ran right into the backend of my car while I was patiently waiting in bumper to bumper traffic. I was wondering why I heard a lot of beeping and tire screeching going on behind me until I felt the impact.
To make matters worse, I could tell this douchebag was hot boxing in his Mustang because when he got out of his car he was followed by a Pig-Pen-esque cloud of pot smoke that was so pungent that it made me take a step back. If someone wants to get high, that's fine with me but how enjoyable could a high be during rush hour traffic? I can't understand the thought process of “I'm going to get fucked up and instead of enjoying my fucked up-ness I am going to put myself in one of life's most frustrating situations while operating heavy machinery.”
I found out that this kid was on his parents' insurance policy because I started getting phone calls from them trying to handle the situation without going through insurance companies. They tried to impress me by saying that they knew people that owned a car dealership out in East Kabumfuck, the next county over and I could have the repairs done there. Right. And then I'll just walk home from the other side of the middle of nowhere because I'd be out of a car until mine was being worked on. Maybe Little Timmy and his dickhead family needed to learn a lesson here.
It took forever to get my car fixed because the asshole kept dodging phone calls from his insurance company to the point where they gave up on him and took the loss without his statement. The worst part of the whole ordeal was the piece of shit rental car that I ended up with. It was a Mitsubishi something or other that was essentially a tiny box on wheels with a three cylinder engine. The guy at the rental place did try to up sell me into a regular car and seemed a little offended when I said, “Fuck that. I'm not the one that hit my car so I'm not paying for that shit.” To get home from the rental place I had to drive on a highway for a few exits and thought I was going to die. I had the gas pedal on the floor and it topped out at 50mph on the Parkway North where the usual pace of traffic is at least 80mph.
. . .
While on my way out to Greensburg to see Lewis Black, I was hit for the second time. Instead of taking the turnpike from Pittsburgh, I decided to save a few bucks and take Route 30 out to the Palace Theater. The plan was to stop at Sheetz on the way out so I could get properly caffeinated before the show. What a mistake that was.
I was just outside of the city limits when some asshole decided to sail his land yacht of a Cadillac into the side of my car instead of checking a mirror before he changed lanes. Fortunately, the car behind me saw what was going on and was able to stop in time before they rear ended me otherwise I would have been rightly fucked on the side of the road.
As soon as we pulled over to exchange information, this guy went in for the hard sell and tried to offer me a pile of money to not turn his negligence over to the insurance companies. He was an older white guy that looked to be in his early sixties. He also looked and acted like no one had ever told him “No” before. It felt like a sales pitch every time he opened his mouth and he was getting more and more aggressive with his cash offer for the repairs to my car. It was to the point where it was off putting and set my Spidey senses a tingling that he might be trying to scam me somehow. I don't know if he had DUIs or something else on his driving record or what the deal was with this guy but I did not care enough to want to find out.
It was not even 8am the following morning when he called me to up his cash offer to $2,000 and promised to deliver the cash by the end of the day. The guy called me again the same evening, this time upping the offer to $3,000. By this time, I had already called it into the insurance company because he sent up enough red flags that I'm sure I would have ended up having to chase him down at some point.
I don't know what it is with people fucking up my shit then thinking I'd be cool with them fucking up my shit and handling things under the table. I try to live my life in such a way so as to not be bothered by other people. Humans are dumb, savage animals and I'd prefer to have as little to do with them as possible so when they literally come crashing into that idea, no, I'm not going to be cool about it. Fuck you, your rates are going up. It's the cost of doing business when you fuck up my shit.
. . .
The third time my car was hit was on the first night of the Millvale COVID/Music Festival. A mere twelve days after I was hit by the asshole in the Cadillac.
Anticipating a nightmare parking scenario around Mr. Smalls, Submachine decided to meet up in Mt. Washington, at the House Of Apathy practice and recording facility, pile into the van and then make our way over to the venue.
The show was played, pictures were taken, the gear was packed up and back to Mt. Washington we headed. As the van passed my car on Bailey Ave., I noticed that my side view mirror was dangling off of the side of my car. Hooray, for me.
Not only was the side view mirror hanging by a thread, there was also a massive dent in the front driver's side door which now prevents the door from opening. In order to get in and out of my car it now requires my best Mary Lou Retton impersonation to get from the passenger seat and over the center console.
Other than the damage to my car, there was nothing left behind by the driver. No note or anything. Stay classy Pittsburgh and go fuck yourself.
We had gotten back before last call at the bar across the street from where I was parked so we went in to see if their security cameras may have caught this hit and run piece of shit on film. Even better than catching the asshole on tape, the bartender saw it happen, caught the license number and called the cops. The bartender told me to call 911 and have a cop show up to get my information and to give me the police report number.
So there I was standing on a street corner at 2am with my busted ass car and waiting for the cops to show up. That is not a position that I like to be put in so the anxiety cranked itself up to eleven. Luckily, Alex Submachine stuck around to see how things panned out which helped to keep my freak out to a minimum.
Shockingly enough, the cop showed up in a reasonable amount of time. I was imagining the sun coming up before some feckless dickhead in full body armor would have bothered to take the call.
Bill Hicks once said something along the lines of “I hope you get cut in half by a train at a railroad crossing while your family watches.” That is more or less the way I'm feeling toward this asshole for making me have to talk to a cop on poorly lit street corner in the middle of the night.
Outside of the report number, the cop didn't offer up any details or information so now I have to go downtown between the hours of 8am and 3:30pm, pay for parking and a fifteen dollar fee to obtain a copy of the report on my own. And that's in addition to the $500 deductible that I need to cough up to have my door replaced, if this pigfucker can't be tracked down.
After calling this steaming pile of bullshit into my insurance company, the rep handling my claim told me to try getting the bar's security camera footage on my own and also encouraged me to follow through on getting my own copy of the police report. She said that most places won't give them footage unless there are lawyers and warrants involved so I'd have a better chance asking as the individual. She also told me that, in her experience of handling insurance claims from all over the country, the Pittsburgh Police Department is always the slowest when it comes to providing a copy of the report.
Unfortunately, the surveillance footage did not provide a good angle of the hit and run but at least I have a picture of the pickup truck that did the hitting and running. And I struck out on my first attempt at getting the police report because, according to the clerk at the records office, the report was kicked back to the originating officer for incomplete information. Looks like one of our city's “boldest and bravest” has a problem with crossing his I's and dotting his T's. I was told to give it a few days for Officer C Student to get his shit together and try again.
I am seriously getting to the point where I'm going to sell off all of my earthly possessions and go live in a cave somewhere so no one will bother me. Start living like Ted Kaczynski and only surface for provisions and to mail out hand scribbled manifestos about Punk Rock and how everyone is stupid but me that absolutely no one will read because I sent them off to defunct publications.
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