One: Busted Trunk
I went to the movies on Sunday with Morgain and Luc. We say "Stranger than Fiction," which was actually much better than I had expected. I was pleasantly surprised.
However, when I go out of the theater, I found that my car's trunk had been smashed.
Now, I don't drive a new car, but it is quite reliable and though it is the first vehicle that I have owned that did not have a name, I am a little fond of it. Don't let it know, though; it'd completely skew our relationship.
Still, I was distressed to find that someone had apparently backed into it. It was a pleasant surprise to find that the individual had left a note on my windshield with their information. It took the shock off of it, actually, that someone had cared enough to take responsibility, when they could have simply driven away. Thank goodness.
Dealing with insurance companies on a Sunday afternoon, however, was less than pleasant.
I called Geico, my insurance company, first. I did this because, well, the last accident I had was well over fifteen years ago, and it also was not my fault. At the time, I called my insurance company, and they contacted the other company and they just took care of everything.
Well, they don't do that anymore. After
I gave all the information to the claims person on the phone, they told me that I could file this against my own policy (and pay the deductible, of course) or I could call the insurance of the person who hit me. No, they don't do that anymore because of "privacy concerns". "Bologna," I say, "Bologna!"
Geico also told me that, even though this accident was not my fault, and that I haven't had anything more than a parking ticket in the 11 years I've been their customer (and no accidents or moving violations), not even a glass claim, that this could possibly
(but he couldn't say one way or another) drive up my rates, and that their Underwriters would contact me, in writing, in 30 days if that was the case.
What The Fuck? Screw you, Geico! I have been an ideal customer, and this "accident" was something that I had no control over. I was no where near the car when it happened, the car was not moving when it did happen, and aside from not having gone to the movie, there was nothing to prevent this accident that I could have possibly done.
Still, the phone representative could not assure me that that would not happen.
I called the insurance company of the person who hit me, and they couldn't do more than take the information and tell me that a Claims Representative would get back to me.
I'm annoyed. My trunk will not close properly. I've got it help down with a bungee cord, and I had to remove the light-bulb in the trunk because it simply would not close well enough to turn off.( 2 pictures: 1 dent, 1 boy, 1 snowman...Collapse )Two: People Made of Snow
A couple of weeks ago, when the big blizzard happened here in Albuquerque (the most snow in recorded Albuquerque history), a few things happened.
The first big night of the storm, I was up late on my computer. I went to bed around 2 in the morning.
At 3:25, my cellphone was ringing. I ran to it, because if it were ringing in the middle of the night, something must be up. It was Fred, from work. There was a problem with a UPS in the server room, and no one could get through the snow to see what was up. I, however, live just a five-minute-walk from the office (and often do walk there).
I got dressed, and stomped through the snow to the office. The night was very light, as the snow was reflecting what little light there was back up into the sky. There was about eight inches of snow on the ground already, and it was till coming down.
I crossed Indian School, which is the one main road between me and the office. There were not any fresh tire tracks through the snow. The air was still and quiet. All of the winter-browned bermuda grass was covered up, and everything looked fresh and clean.
There were no tire tracks leading into the office parking lot as I tromped in through the snow. I reached the door and let myself in, stomping the snow off in the lobby.
And hour and a half later, I headed back home. I had done everything that I could do there, and all was well. Walking back, though, I could take my time and enjoy the snow, which was still quietly falling from the sky. I walked back in my own footprints, which had been filled with a couple of inches of fresh fallen whiteness.
Looking up my own street, with all the xeriscaping and sand covered up, and the trees hanging heavy with snow, that I could just as easily be in New England, at that very moment. It reminded me of New England storms, and walking around the refreshed, quiet Connecticut city that I was born in.
Over the next few days, I'd have to deal with things that I hadn't had to since living in New England: Snow, ice, frost, not owning a snow-shovel because I hadn't needed one in teh seven years since moving here...
I had held up this illusion that I was ready to move back to the east coast, and here comes a taste of it reminding me what I would be in store for, if I were to do so. It wasn't so bad, really.
However, there were other things that were wonderful in that time. Building a snowman with Ray; his first. He was terribly amused at rolling a huge ball of snow around the yard, even if he did refuse to wear a hat and gloves.
It snowed again this weekend. Just an inch; nothing big. Some part of me was hoping for another huge wintery dump, though I knew that it simply wouldn't happen. Still, it's good to hope.