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[School Assignment] :: Column
Mar. 28th, 2003 12:34 amJOUR 303 Column
March 28, 2003
I am soon to be the proud owner of a guardrail on Highway 36 between Cameron, Texas, and Milano, Texas.
How did I get so lucky?
The Department of Transportation recently sent a bill asking if I would kindly send them a check for $555 for the repairs of a guardrail I hit in an auto accident in February.
The guardrail was not damaged in my accident.
Yes, I admit that I hit it. A few times, in fact. It wasn't a fun thing to do. I really was like the little silver ball in a pinball machine for a few minutes. Well, except for the fact that my truck was black, not silver. And it wasn't round. But the actions were similar.
It left me shaken, upset, and with a totaled truck.
Even though I was without a vehicle for over a month, I drove that same road every single day from home to school in my mother's car. I still drive it every day, and get a funny feeling as I take that curve and remember how I'd lost control.
It took time, but eventually everything with the accident was settled. I got a new vehicle. My auto insurance pulled through better than I could have hoped. I got my feet back under me when it comes to driving. Life. Was. Good.
Until that certified letter arrived.
"Please pay for the labor, the 75 feet of guardrail and 6 posts we had to put in after you damaged the guardrail."
Wait. They fixed the guardrail? Where was I? I never saw any repairs being done.
They had to replace 75 feet of guardrail when I hit it twice going only about 35 miles per hour? There wasn't even the smallest dent in the rail!
But. Okay. I hit the guardrail. If they say I did that damage, so be it. I can't exactly prove at this point that I didn't hurt anything except my truck and bruised my pride.
I can prove the pain to my checking account, though.
Towing? $150
Car rental? $170
Auto insurance rate increase? $200
Guardrail damage? $555
Equal parts annoyance and amusement? Priceless.
Driving is an expensive endeavor in itself. Gas. Insurance. Car payments. Maintenance. Fuzzy dice to hang off the rear view mirror. The costs add up quickly.
However, it's when you stop suddenly, and against your will, that the costs really add up.
My accident was minor. I was the only person in the vehicle. No other vehicles were involved. I was not hurt. On a scale of one to ten in regards to accident severity, I barely rate a blip.
However, I'm apparently a rich blip as the Department of Transportation demands their money.
They'll get their money, and I'll start claiming ownership of that guardrail. I will have paid for it, after all.
Maybe I can name it. Joe Guardrail. That sounds nice.
Maybe I'll go decorate it at Christmas. Perhaps I can charge rent to anyone else who wants to use it to keep them from going off the road as well.
Okay, maybe not.
But it is one of those things that I have to find the amusement in. There's not much that can be done to fight it; so just go with it. I'll send them their check and wave at my own personal guardrail everyday.
My only hope is that I never have to see it up close and personal again.
March 28, 2003
I am soon to be the proud owner of a guardrail on Highway 36 between Cameron, Texas, and Milano, Texas.
How did I get so lucky?
The Department of Transportation recently sent a bill asking if I would kindly send them a check for $555 for the repairs of a guardrail I hit in an auto accident in February.
The guardrail was not damaged in my accident.
Yes, I admit that I hit it. A few times, in fact. It wasn't a fun thing to do. I really was like the little silver ball in a pinball machine for a few minutes. Well, except for the fact that my truck was black, not silver. And it wasn't round. But the actions were similar.
It left me shaken, upset, and with a totaled truck.
Even though I was without a vehicle for over a month, I drove that same road every single day from home to school in my mother's car. I still drive it every day, and get a funny feeling as I take that curve and remember how I'd lost control.
It took time, but eventually everything with the accident was settled. I got a new vehicle. My auto insurance pulled through better than I could have hoped. I got my feet back under me when it comes to driving. Life. Was. Good.
Until that certified letter arrived.
"Please pay for the labor, the 75 feet of guardrail and 6 posts we had to put in after you damaged the guardrail."
Wait. They fixed the guardrail? Where was I? I never saw any repairs being done.
They had to replace 75 feet of guardrail when I hit it twice going only about 35 miles per hour? There wasn't even the smallest dent in the rail!
But. Okay. I hit the guardrail. If they say I did that damage, so be it. I can't exactly prove at this point that I didn't hurt anything except my truck and bruised my pride.
I can prove the pain to my checking account, though.
Towing? $150
Car rental? $170
Auto insurance rate increase? $200
Guardrail damage? $555
Equal parts annoyance and amusement? Priceless.
Driving is an expensive endeavor in itself. Gas. Insurance. Car payments. Maintenance. Fuzzy dice to hang off the rear view mirror. The costs add up quickly.
However, it's when you stop suddenly, and against your will, that the costs really add up.
My accident was minor. I was the only person in the vehicle. No other vehicles were involved. I was not hurt. On a scale of one to ten in regards to accident severity, I barely rate a blip.
However, I'm apparently a rich blip as the Department of Transportation demands their money.
They'll get their money, and I'll start claiming ownership of that guardrail. I will have paid for it, after all.
Maybe I can name it. Joe Guardrail. That sounds nice.
Maybe I'll go decorate it at Christmas. Perhaps I can charge rent to anyone else who wants to use it to keep them from going off the road as well.
Okay, maybe not.
But it is one of those things that I have to find the amusement in. There's not much that can be done to fight it; so just go with it. I'll send them their check and wave at my own personal guardrail everyday.
My only hope is that I never have to see it up close and personal again.
