05.11.03
The irony of this weekend is that while I was completely indignant about getting hit by another motorist on Friday, I was completely contrite about hitting another motorist on Saturday, and he wasn't the least bit indignant about the whole thing.
Saturday morning, Cricket and I were returning to Iowa for the weekend, to load up the rest of my stuff in the car, and to see the family I've left behind.
It was raining so hard and so violently, that the rain was actually bouncing up off of the ground and causing half the visibility that should have been available. Traffic was bumper-to-bumper on N. Foster, and in the rain it was stop-and-go all the way to the expressway. Brake lights were flashing so often in front of me that I was started to feel like I was watching a red strobe light, or subconsciously reading morse code. As I crossed N. California, traffic picked up a little, and we were all consistently crawling along doing 10 miles/hour for a while. As I crossed N. Spaulding, the car in front of me braked suddenly, and when I braked, I felt myself hydroplane the few feet between us, and strike the rear of his car.
We both pulled over, and examined the damage in the downpour.
His car had a few dinky scratches on the underside of the rear bumper, from where my car had somehow slip under it, and my car had a crumpled front hood, a missing hood ornament, a cracked grill, and a lot more paint flaking off my bumper than before. The hood also wouldn't open.
We exchanged information -- well, I gave him all of my info, and he gave me his name and number. He decided that I should call him later for his info, since we were both sopping wet and upset, and I agreed.
Which I will do tomorrow.
What's in your head?