Monday, December 05, 2005

Beavis & Beelzebub

I have recently changed my opinions about insurance companies.

Where once I considered insurance companies to be, collectively, Satan himself, I have now re-thought that interpretation. The Devil's actually a pretty bright dude. The same cannot be said for insurance companies.

Oh, they're definitely in league with the Prince of Darkness, they're just nowhere near as highly placed as I once thought. Not quite Vice-Presidents, they're more the middle management type, probably holed up in the Petty Annoyances division with Gap ads and Donald Trump.

As my faithful readers know, my poor little car is no longer performing the basic functions of a car; rather it is performing the basic functions of a oversized novelty paperweight.

Today I had the (surprisingly surreal) task of cleaning absolutely everything out of my car and taking the license plates off - which I did myself, by the way, and not with the tool that the woman at the impound lot told me, but rather with the one that we thought to bring ahead of time. So there.

I realise it's just a car, but it was kind of weird to know I'd never be driving it again. I mean, we've gotten rid of two cars before this, but in both of those cases, I was not unhappy to see them go. Now I don't really know what (or if) I'll be driving. Plus, lest we forget, the car was mine. The insurance companies didn't know that, but my bank account sure did.

Now, back to the brazen blockheadedness of insurance companies.

I had the accident two weeks ago this coming Wednesday. The insurance appraiser came last Wednesday (from Ottawa due to the volume of recent crashes). Apparently, since then, the insurance company has been bugging the hell out of the impound lot to release the car (license plates, ownership, and personal effects in tow) so that they could haul it away. As such, that bugging has been passed along the line to my parents, and through there to me - who has not been floating in free time recently1.

Permit me to walk you through my logic as to why they should not be bitching about me not cleaning the car out:
  1. It took them a week to get to the car, too
  2. My world did not stop revolving when I got into my accident; other things were happening
  3. They...have...our...phone...number

Needless to say, my concern over their time is not at an all-time high.

But, my car has been emptied, save for a pen, a metal coat hanger, and an empty case of bottled water. Feel free to drag it away. I'm sorry I have irrevocably altered the courses of your lives.

1 - I do, in fact, deserve a good chunk of blame for the delay. Had I known that the gates would be unlocked and cleaning the car out would take all of 15 minutes, I would have gone earlier. But I didn't. Somehow, though, I'm not sorry.

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