It's Friday. I'd left work, the sun was shining. I was going to get pizza. I turned into the parking lot of my favourite pizza joint. Found an empty spot, drove past it, stopped to reverse in. I turned my head and started to reverse.
Suddenly, there was a muffled thud. It sounded as if I'd reversed into a pile of snow. But no, somewhere up front, a Volkswagen had crashed into me.
A grey-haired man, in his late 70s, had not seen me coming. This is understandable. He had also not heard me coming. This is less understandable. He had started reversing out of his parking space, and before he knew it, he was riding on my front bumper.
Not even a W126 will withstand the weight of a Passat pressing on its cold-weakened extremities. The driver side front wing was dinged and rashed, the bumper was scratched and torn off its brackets, the amber cornerlight broke, and the bumper chrome was dinged.
The grey-haired man evaluated the front of my car, and concluded the bumper had been scratched. After I had corrected his evaluation, he proceeded to claim it was impossible that the damage beyond the leading edge of my bumper was caused by the crash. I calmly explained to him that our opinions are irrelevant, and the police, who I shall invite over immediately, will judge the situation objectively. I inquired if the grey-haired man was in a hurry. As it turned out, he was, and asked me what sum of monetary compensation would free him and get him on his way. I gave him a lowball estimate of 1500€, which he claimed not to have. He told me, if he could see any evidence of the damage having occurred at the time of the accident, there would be no problem. Silently, I pointed at a shattered piece of amber corner light, laying on the ground two meters away from the grey-haired man.
The man, starting to realize the facts of the situation, agreed to stop bickering and wait for the boys in blue. As we were waiting for the Official Volkswagen Transporter, we started chatting. I told him about the SEC, and about the Club. He told me of the relatively low mileage of his Passat, and of the 1970s Yankee muscle in his garage. The mood began to lift.
Eventually, the police arrived. Data was entered into form fields. Zeroes were blown into a breathalyzer. Hands were shaken. The grey-haired man invited me over for coffee.
Naturally, the insurance of the grey-haired man will cover the repair of the SEC. This is bad news for the insurance company, which is the same one I have. They will no doubt remember my red W124, which they spent over 8000€ repairing. Hopefully, the parties involved will have noted my eye for detail, and will execute the repair to my satisfaction the first time round.
To be continued.
