For the past four days, I’ve been trying to deal with getting someone else’s mistake pounded out of my car’s driver side door, seething about how the person that hit me had no license but plenty of gall to be driving around regardless.
Lo and behold I get a call this morning from the “owner of the car.” She wants to know if, four days after the driver took off without giving me his name, we could possibly not involve insurance.
NO, BITCH, WE CANNOT PLAY LET’S MAKE A FUCKING DEAL. And here’s why:
Frankly, I’m insulted by her johnny-come-lately, hamfisted approach to bribery…and the fact that her scheming ass tried to lie to me about her identity in the first place. It turns out that the other car did not belong to some mythical mother-in-law creature, but instead belonged to the idiotic passenger, who kept trying to play it off as such.
Extra Asshole Points are being awarded for having her two young kids in the car and carting them around illegally.
Fucking moron.
I need a drink.
