Wasted Effort

In order to avoid paying a meter all day when parked at work, most of us find a spot a block or two away on one of the side streets. Being West Hollywood, we get our fair share of local crazies, and probably more than our fair share of terrible drivers.

A couple of weeks ago, I'm leaving work at 6 pm, and I find that the driver's side mirror of my virtually brand-new Accord has been knocked nearly off and cracked down the center. I'm not terribly surprised, as I had parked on a pretty narrow, heavily-trafficked street, and I'm not even all that upset. As per usual at 6 pm, all I can think about is getting home to my kids. Zipping up and down the canyon while catching up on my correspondences to distract me from the agony of having to WAIT to see them, having to endure the 25-minute commute when I've already been away from them for eight hours.

So my mirror seems like small potatoes, and, I remind myself, something like that was bound to happen eventually. A hit and run, probably one of three hundred that occurred on that very day, in that very neighborhood. I completely forget about filing a police report.

The next morning, however, I notice something blue on my windshield. A note! The hitter had left a note! There are decent people left in this world!

I pluck it from under my wipers, ready to accept an apology, and give the Post-It a quick read. It is, indeed, a note. And it says this:

"I saw who hit your car! She hit it, backed up, looked, and drove off!
BITCH!!
It was a BMW, lic # XXXXXXX.

- John Doe, 310-555-5555."

Like I said, there are decent people left in this world.

When I get to work, I call the sherrif's department to file a report, and they send a gruff-looking deputy to my office. I hadn't thought to pull the car up in front for him, and he looks a little peeved when I suggest we walk around the corner to where I was parked.

I try smiling and looking cute to lighten the mood, but this guy's attitude is no-nonsense.

He practically growls: "Aren't you aware that you're supposed to call the police right away when something like this happens? Not - the next morning?"

"Um, yeah, but I just didn't think of it. I was anxious to get home to my kids after work, and, well...um, I'm sorry."

He softens a notch. When we got to the car, I search for my insurance and registration while he takes notes on my story - on the note.

"Who's this guy calling a bitch?" he asked defiantly.

"Um, I don't think he meant me, sir."

"What do you want us to do to this lady if we manage to track her down?" He called from behind my back.

Assuming he was joking, I shoot back: "Maximum security prison, 15 - 20 solid years, no bail?"

Silence. I turned around to find the heavy-set, uniformed deputy glaring at me, his arms crossed over his chest.

"Ma'am, I'm not joking."

"Oh. Well, then, what are my options? Can you make her pay for the damage?"

"No, you'll have to deal with all of that through your insurance company. But if you choose to prosecute, she can get 5-6 months in a county facility."

"Well, that seems a bit harsh. Can I first see if she'll pay for the damage, and then decide whether or not to prosecute?"

"No."

"Do I have any real choices here?"

"Not really."

"Okay then. Do you still need my registration? 'Cause I'm having a hard time finding the papers."

"No, this is fine."

"Good."

"Ma'am?"

"Yes?"

"Are you aware that there is gum stuck to your back-seat window?"

"No, I wasn't, but I'm not surprised. I have a four year old. Findings like that come with the territory."

Finally, a smile. And suddenly, we are fast friends.

"I'm going to do a little license plate search right now, Ma'am. If the number on this note is correct, I'll track the perp down today! I'll go right to her house and see what she says!"

"Wow, really? You must be so busy. I don't want to bother you with something so small..."

"This is what I do all day, Ma'am. I file reports."

We're walking side-by-side back towards his squad car. "If she doesn't want to own up and cooperate? I'll take her car!"

I pretend to be impressed, because the machismo is suddenly palpable.

"You can do that?"

"I sure as hell can! This one time, this bratty 17-year-old kid was driving his daddy's Bentley in Beverly Hills? And he hits and runs. So I track 'im down, show up at his front door. He won't fess up. He won't take responsibility. So whadoIdo? I call the tow truck and take his car, right in front of his eyes. His dad was PISSED. OFF. I just TAKE that '07 Bentley. Know what kinda fancy car that is?

"After a coupla days kid gets sick of not having a car. He breaks. He pays the damage. It was great."

Now I've got to lay it on thick. We're on the same team. Bad guys vs. good guys. Me and my deputy? We're clearly the good guys.

"Wooow. That must've been great. The look on his face when you took his daddy's Bentley - priceless, right?"

The deputy is now putty in my hands. He starts punching the plate number from the note onto a keypad in his car. He's ready to be my hero, to take Bitch's BMW and, well, make her eat shit and beg. I'm wringing my hands, hopeful.

Suddenly, he screws up his eyebrows. "Hmm. This isn't good. This number is turning up as registered to a Lincoln, not a Beemer. Guy musta written it down wrong in the dark."

"Oh, come on. Serious? Does this mean I'm going to have to pay for the damage?"

"Well, your insurance might cover it. But not if you haven't yet met your deductible."

"Crap. She's got a BMW, I've only got an Accord. And she needs to take my money? Thanks a million."

"Gonna run you about $400. I'm sorry. That's terrible."

"Yeah. Well, thanks for your time."

"Hey, I'll keep working on this, trying different combos. And I'll call the guy who wrote the note, see if he remembers anything else. I'll call you back."

I smile. Muster up love and appreciation in my eyes. Go back to work.

A co-worker says, "That's the same dude who filed my report when my car was hit last week. He's kinda scary."

"Nah."

I call my insurance. I've got a $500 unmet deductible. I'll be paying for the costs of damage under that amount.

And the cop? Never called back.

Is it wrong to pray he's confiscated another bratty kid's dad's Bentley since then?