Carolyn and Tony got in their Jeep and set waze for the Acqueduct Raceway in Queens. They’re native New Yorkers, but they use an app because we all use apps. From the Upper West Side, they made their way into Queens via I-495. The app’s peregrinations got them turned around as they neared South Ozone Park. They ended up on Rockaway Boulevard in the slipstream of weekday traffic.
In the rearview, Carolyn glanced up to see a silver Mitsubishi making erratic lane changes at a high rate of speed. The stop light had just turned green, and they started to accelerate. Tony, looking in the side view mirror, said “I think he’s going to hit us.” Before he could finish, the Jeep lurched forward, slamming them into their seat backs. The shower of plastic parts and glass sprayed across the pavement and throughout the interior as they both lurched forward as the Jeep rapidly decelerated. Her foot instinctually stood on the brake. The Mitsubishi’s front end had disappeared within the rear of the SUV. The radio, perfectly in tune, suddenly sounded like jibberish.
With traffic going by, Carolyn and Tony processed the collision. She was relieved the airbags didn’t deploy — her face would have been black and blue. She also had on her big puffy coat that insulated her like packing peanuts around a vase. A car pulled in front of her with the hazards on. She and Tony were fumbling for their phones trying to call 9–1–1.
A guy appeared at her widow and motioned for her to roll it down, “I got this on video from my car, he was driving crazy. I’ll send it to you.”
As the witness sent a link to Carolyn, the driver of the Mitsubishi extricated himself from his totaled vehicle. She looked away from Tony’s walleyed expression, to see the reflection of the driver who had hit them settling into the back seat in her rearview mirror. She still had her seat belt on. The door closed with a thud.
“I don’t want to get the cops involved in this,” he said.
“Let me guess,” Carolyn said, “you don’t have a license.”
“No, well, it’s suspended but… here’s how this is going to go down.”
“Don’t even think you’re going to tell me how this is going to go. You do not want to fuck with me now, understand?”
“Now don’t get all jammed up about this,” he said. “My girlfriend’s coming, and I’ll say she was driving.” They processed this malfeasance, and Tony listened to the dispatcher say that they wouldn’t have traffic officers responding — no deaths, no injuries that anyone knew about. It’s covid.
A suburban pulled up in front the witness who had the video, and from behind the wheel emerged an enormous man walking with a cane. He made his way over to Carolyn’s window.
“I’m gonna take care of all of this. I heard about it on the police scanner.”
He took Carolyn’s info and the girlfriend’s insurance info — she had since arrived at the scene too — and called the claims departments for both vehicles involved in the crash.
“Let’s get this out of traffic.” The rear end was imploded, it was leaking gas, but drive-able. “I’m going to get a flat-bed to meet us,” he said. The wounded Jeep followed by a black Suburban with the hazards on proceeded down Rockaway Boulevard to a pull out. Engine off, the fixer said he knew a guy who owned a body shop. Carolyn mentioned she had grown up around here. She also mentioned that she had a covid vaccine appointment at the Aqueduct in 20 minutes.
“No problem, I’ll take you.”
“What about my car … the keys?”
“Just leave them in the car.” She separated her fob from the rest of her keys and tossed it on the seat. Events had taken on their own inertia.
Carolyn, Tony and the fixer left the wrecked Jeep leaking gas with the key in it and drove to the Aqueduct Raceway where she was registered and received her Pfizer vaccine. They were Florida bound in a few days — that’s why she wanted the shot. The fixer waited for them, and then they drove to the body shop where her wrecked Jeep sat.
In a cramped office, the fixer spoke with the body shop guy and gave him the claims reporting phone number. Carolyn provided her registration. The body shop guy dialed the claims number.
“Yeah, hello, my Aunt & Uncle just got in an accident and they’re too shook up to talk, so I’m gonna do it.”
“Ok, what’s the name?” the claims specialist asked.
The body shop guy looked at Carolyn & Tony and asked, “What’s your name?” with claims specialist listening on the phone.
Carolyn, shaking her head, said her last name and spelled it out “D — A — M — A — T — O” while the body shop guy repeated what she said only louder.
Tony and Carolyn took an Uber home from the body shop. They left at 1pm on Wednesday, got rear ended by a reckless driver with no license, segued into the underground economy of vehicle insurance claim repairs without the police, received a covid vaccine shot at a horse track and returned home after 7pm. They flew to Florida two days later. I Love New York.
This is a true story with the names changed for privacy.
