Accident Reconstructionist

OK, let me state right up front that bereavement fares are a joke. Now, I can understand that, since the funeral is two weeks away, it’s too early to qualify for a bereavement fare. I can’t actually order bereavement airline tickets until a week or less before the actual departure. But when I called around today to get preliminary prices on what it would cost if I could order them today, my jaw dropped on the floor. United Airlines quoted a price that far exceeded what it would cost for me to just order UA tickets online at Expedia. And for what Continental would charge for a single ticket, I could purchase two round-trip tickets to California from American West, and still have enough left over to pay for two nights at a fairly nice hotel.

Now granted, I hate flying American West. They call ’em “American Worst” for a reason, you know. But considering the savings, it might be worth it. I’ve saved the itinerary in Expedia, and I’ll run it past the Socialist before purchasing it this evening.

I feel off-balance at the moment. I worry about the Socialist, and want to do whatever I can to make things easier for him. I’m pretty much only succeeding in driving him nuts though. Somewhere there’s a narrow little place between not caring enough and smothering. I just need a map to find the spot.

Well, I suppose my attempts at loving ministrations are at least taking his mind off his troubles temporarily.

I forgot to mention on Wednesday, what with everything else going on, but my poor little Prius was rear-ended. I was stopped at a stop sign, waiting for a break in traffic. The ten yards or so leading up to the stop sign was hard packed snow that had partially melted and turned to ice during the day. I thought it was a bit slippery, but nothing too difficult to handle.

Evidently the guy behind me had a different opinion of road conditions. This is probably the first time I’ve ever been hit that I had no clue what was coming. All the other times I had at least a split second to see something coming straight at me, and prepare. But not Wednesday.

So anyhow, I was sitting there, minding my own business when, in chronological order: WHUMP! Oof! … What the …? I’ve been HIT! … Am I OK? … Goddamned “M”-word-that-I-never-ever-use idiot!”

I turned off my car, got out to inspect the damage, and was greeted by a nicely groomed guy about my age, who alternately asked me if I was OK and apologized profusely for the accident. “I just lost it on the ice” he said. He’s standing around on the ice pack, making conversation, and I’m watching traffic backing up behind us on the ice. Anybody else see the recipe for disaster that I was noting? The guy wanted to trade information, which was a good idea, but I figured if we did it there one of us was going to be road pudding before we’d finished giving each other our insurance agents’ middle initials. I sized him and his car up, sized my own car up (no visible damage), and suggested we just exchange cards and we could get in touch later at a safer location.

Then I got home, found out about the Socialist’s mom, and didn’t even think about the accident again until last night. I pulled the guys card out of my wallet (I hadn’t even looked at it earlier) and discovered that I had been hit by:

This is one accident he isn’t going to have to put a lot of time into reconstructing.