If you know the rest of the lyrics to the Clarks song that goes with the title to this post, you’ll know where Big Daddy had his fender bender. And then you might know why I wasn’t the least bit surprised to find out that the guy whose rear bumper hubby tapped last week is claiming injuries from our insurance company. Where the mishap occurred, you see a lot of mullets and big hair. People still wear acid-washed jeans. And people around here have smirked that one out of every three adults there lives on disability–without actually being disabled.
I know I sound heartless and rude. Maybe I am. But I don’t like to be scammed. Not even if it’s my insurance company footing the bill.
If the man is really hurt, I beg his forgiveness. Because car wrecks and injuries are terrible things. But Big Daddy was pulling onto the roadway at a pretty slow pace, and this car was not that far away. He was a younger guy, and when he hopped out of his car to talk to hubby he seemed perfectly fine, although he quickly mentioned that his neck might be sore. He did a dead stop on the ramp when there was no one in sight. I’ve heard some people do this on purpose, although I’m not making any accusations here. I’m just saying.
And I’m not saying that only people living in depressed areas do this kind of crap. There’s this freak, a retired Pennsylvania Superior Court judge, who netted $440,000 claiming neck and back injuries in a fender bender. But then he received a 4-year prison term when they proved the good ‘ol greedy judge was just fine. Justice for the judge.
In the end, I guess I’d rather be scammed than actually have the guy be injured. But in the end, we’ll never know for sure.