Remember the movie Duel?
It was a made for TV movie directed by Steven Spielberg that wound up being so good (go figure) it was released theatrically overseas.
Wonder what ever happened to that Spielberg guy? But I digress.
In the movie, an 18-wheeler, piloted by a mystery/ghost driver, decides it'd be amusing to run an unsuspecting Dennis Weaver off the road with his truck. One attempt involves rear-ending his car.
That's the image that went through my head last Monday night as I looked into my rear-view mirror a few seconds before getting rear-ended coming home on the 405 South.
Now, first things first. I didn't get hit by an 18-wheeler. I got hit by a 1999 Pontiac. I don't know which model it was, but at least it wasn't an Aztec. That would only be adding insult to injury for everyone involved.
Fortunately, unlike the truck in the movie, the Pontiac wasn't going 80 or 90. It was going about 25 mph when it hit my car. Unfortunately, I wasn't moving at all since I was stopped in rush hour traffic. Do the words "sitting duck" honk a horn?
I was taught when I stop in traffic, it's always a good idea to leave some room between me and the car in front of me. That way, if I get hit from behind, I won't get slammed into that car. Even though I didn't like the way I found out, it is nice to know that lesson actually works in the real world.
After the other driver and I pulled over to exchange information, I asked her why she hit me and how come she didn't see me. She said she was looking in the mirror and just didn't look up in time.
Now, when I heard that, two thoughts immediately ran through my aching head. I wanted to express the first one to her in two words, which I did not. The other was, looking in the mirror? Really? Why would she tell me that, even if it's the truth?
We tried to see the damage to my car, but the fact that I drive a black car and it was nighttime wasn't really helping.
I looked at her car and felt really bad. Not because it was trashed, but because it was a 1999 Pontiac.
The good news is my car was drivable, she was insured, and no one was hurt as bad as they could've been.
So while I wait for my bumper, and any hidden damage the body shop uncovers, to be repaired, I'm driving a rented Ford Flex. It's a huge, SUV-esque car that's as long as a school bus and drives like a truck. It's way bigger than a car needs to be.
Right now, it's the perfect car for me.
