There I am, driving along, minding my own business, listening to Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, eating a few Skittles (a present from Amos), when *WHAM* a grey SUV appears out of no where, scraping down the driver's side of my car.
I gasp. I slow down.
The other car does not.
Me, in my mind: "HECK NO!!!"
I've heard too many stories about hit-and-run accidents. The victim is left to deal with a broken car while the perpetrator zooms off, taking any chances of filing a claim with them.
Not me. Not today.
I shift gears and chase that car down.
I hear wind whistling through my closed window and realize that my rearview mirror is gone.
No matter.
I zip after the grey SUV, holding down the horn. A maroon pickup truck races next to me. I am irritated: "Can't you see I'm trying to catch the guy who hit me?!?!"
About half a mile down the road, a police car comes screeching up the suicide line. I make sure that this officer is actually after the grey SUV, and we all turn into the parking lot of a small credit union.
By this time, it is me, the maroon pickup, the grey SUV, and three police cars.
I am impressed. This is a very quick response, especially since I hadn't called anyone.
I grab my phone and insurance info and jump out of the car, ready to take on the world!
Mr. Maroon Truck rolls down his window: "I'm a retired police officer, and I saw what happened! I'll be your witness! Just stay over here."
Me: "Okay!"
Mr. Maroon Truck: "Bless your heart."
It turns out that Mr. Maroon Truck has been following this guy down the freeway onto one of the main roads in Tulsa, and he was just about to call the police to report reckless driving. When he saw me get hit ("Bless your heart!"), he called in a hit-and-run, and police cars materialized (five of them, by the end of the incident).
The officers, which include a sergeant, have me fill out a statement, give me a copy of Mr. Maroon Truck's witness statement, and tell me that the other guy is being arrested for a suspected DUI. Off to the pokey!
And then the run-around begins...
Sergeant, rolling his eyes: "Tulsa PD said they wouldn't come this far south, so you have to drive back to the Braum's and call them, and they will come take your statement."
Me: "Uhhhh, okay."
I thank Mr. Maroon Truck again ("Bless your heart, call me if you have any questions, bless your heart.") and drive the one mile back to Tulsa.
I call 911, tell them it is a police non-emergency, and wait. This is how it goes:
Tulsa PD: "Where are you? Oh, you're there? Oh wait, you're there? That is the highway patrol."
-transfer-
OHP: "Where are you? Please hold. *one minute* Hello ma'am? Please hold. *three minutes* Here is the Tulsa PD."
-transfer-
Tulsa PD: "Hello, where are you? Let me look at the map."
I call Amos and tell him what happened.
Thirty minutes later, I am still waiting for the Tulsa PD.
Tulsa PD shows up, seems confused, asks some rather disjointed questions, takes Mr. Maroon Truck's witness statement, and gives me an incident number.
I then toodle off to Walmart to buy groceries, where I call my mom and proudly tell her that I just ran down a bad guy, who is now on his way to jail.
Mom: "I'm glad you're okay! You need to go to the hospital."
*sigh*
So I'm off to the hospital, just to make sure that I'm okay.
I sit in the emergency room waiting area with my back to the daytime tv program, talking to my old roommates on chat, and giving Irene chills over the phone as I relay my adventure of the day. In my peripheral vision, a rather limp-looking lady sits in a wheelchair, occasionally barfing into a bag.
After waiting about an hour, I am taken into the back, inspected, and told that I am fine, no x-rays required, take some ibuprofen, here is your bill for $250.00.
Lessons learned:
Don't get in a hit-and-run with Jennica and expect to get away with it
Don't jump out of the car and try to confront the person who hit you
Always have a retired police officer in the car next to you, ready to make a call
Thank the Lord that you are okay and that it isn't any worse
I gasp. I slow down.
The other car does not.
Me, in my mind: "HECK NO!!!"
I've heard too many stories about hit-and-run accidents. The victim is left to deal with a broken car while the perpetrator zooms off, taking any chances of filing a claim with them.
Not me. Not today.
I shift gears and chase that car down.
I hear wind whistling through my closed window and realize that my rearview mirror is gone.
No matter.
I zip after the grey SUV, holding down the horn. A maroon pickup truck races next to me. I am irritated: "Can't you see I'm trying to catch the guy who hit me?!?!"
About half a mile down the road, a police car comes screeching up the suicide line. I make sure that this officer is actually after the grey SUV, and we all turn into the parking lot of a small credit union.
By this time, it is me, the maroon pickup, the grey SUV, and three police cars.
I am impressed. This is a very quick response, especially since I hadn't called anyone.
I grab my phone and insurance info and jump out of the car, ready to take on the world!
Mr. Maroon Truck rolls down his window: "I'm a retired police officer, and I saw what happened! I'll be your witness! Just stay over here."
Me: "Okay!"
Mr. Maroon Truck: "Bless your heart."
It turns out that Mr. Maroon Truck has been following this guy down the freeway onto one of the main roads in Tulsa, and he was just about to call the police to report reckless driving. When he saw me get hit ("Bless your heart!"), he called in a hit-and-run, and police cars materialized (five of them, by the end of the incident).
The officers, which include a sergeant, have me fill out a statement, give me a copy of Mr. Maroon Truck's witness statement, and tell me that the other guy is being arrested for a suspected DUI. Off to the pokey!
And then the run-around begins...
Sergeant, rolling his eyes: "Tulsa PD said they wouldn't come this far south, so you have to drive back to the Braum's and call them, and they will come take your statement."
Me: "Uhhhh, okay."
I thank Mr. Maroon Truck again ("Bless your heart, call me if you have any questions, bless your heart.") and drive the one mile back to Tulsa.
I call 911, tell them it is a police non-emergency, and wait. This is how it goes:
Tulsa PD: "Where are you? Oh, you're there? Oh wait, you're there? That is the highway patrol."
-transfer-
OHP: "Where are you? Please hold. *one minute* Hello ma'am? Please hold. *three minutes* Here is the Tulsa PD."
-transfer-
Tulsa PD: "Hello, where are you? Let me look at the map."
I call Amos and tell him what happened.
Thirty minutes later, I am still waiting for the Tulsa PD.
Tulsa PD shows up, seems confused, asks some rather disjointed questions, takes Mr. Maroon Truck's witness statement, and gives me an incident number.
I then toodle off to Walmart to buy groceries, where I call my mom and proudly tell her that I just ran down a bad guy, who is now on his way to jail.
Mom: "I'm glad you're okay! You need to go to the hospital."
*sigh*
So I'm off to the hospital, just to make sure that I'm okay.
I sit in the emergency room waiting area with my back to the daytime tv program, talking to my old roommates on chat, and giving Irene chills over the phone as I relay my adventure of the day. In my peripheral vision, a rather limp-looking lady sits in a wheelchair, occasionally barfing into a bag.
After waiting about an hour, I am taken into the back, inspected, and told that I am fine, no x-rays required, take some ibuprofen, here is your bill for $250.00.
Lessons learned:
Don't get in a hit-and-run with Jennica and expect to get away with it
Don't jump out of the car and try to confront the person who hit you
Always have a retired police officer in the car next to you, ready to make a call
Thank the Lord that you are okay and that it isn't any worse
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