I was driving to work as always last Monday morning through the aftermath of a winter storm. On time. Minding my own business, you know how it is. I was on the SAME STREET (Sagert) on which I witnessed a terrifiying accident just the week before between a police cruiser in pursuit and unsuspecting civilian vehicle.
While I was sitting in the left-turn lane waiting to go southbound on Boones Ferry, a VW Jetta that was turning onto Sagert, slid out of control on an ice patch and slammed directly into my front driver's door, deflected, and raked along the back half of my Toyota Tercel. The Jetta had come at me at about 30 mph and had finally slowed down the block behind me on the right shoulder of Sagert. You know all that tensing up they say you do before a crash? I didn't have time for any of that.
I threw my door open and immediately slipped on the icy road. I shouted across the lane for the other driver to be careful because there was ice. Looking back, I think it's likely that she knew that by now. I wasn't injured in the slightest, so I thought that she must be. A quick look at her and the car showed otherwise. Only the front fender was damaged and maybe the last frazzled nerve of this poor lady.
We exchanged information and both drove off. My Tercel is near totaled when I run out of gas or need an oil change, so I knew what was going to happen. So reluctantly I called all the insurance people like a good boy. Both driver's side doors were destroyed and there was a little tear in the back quarter panel.
The insurance company looked at the car on Tuesday: it was a sho nuff goner. This, along with the check we were cut for our deceased Tercel, initiated a search for another car that monopolized every shred of time I had last week, the week we were supposed to pick our adoption agency.