Stories from my commute

In the almost five years that I’ve lived in the DFW area, I’ve racked up my fair share of commute horror stories. From the near misses to the time it took me two and a half hours to drive my typical 45 minute commute, I’ve seen a lot out there. I’ve never actually been involved in an accident though – until today.

This morning was a fantastic commute morning, as far as traffic goes and especially for a Monday, which usually means snarled traffic as far as the eye can see. I sailed past areas that are usually deadlocked and only had to mutter curse words at one motorist (they deserved it, tbh, driving well below the speed limit in the far left lane). I was almost to work, about a mile away from my exit, when it happened. Traffic had been flowing smoothly, but was slowing down as it approached a busy area. Without warning, the car in front of me pulled up short. I, in return, also braked hard and quickly, coming to a full stop. The car behind me, however, either didn’t realize we were stopping or saw too late. She hit me, sliding her sedan underneath the bumper of my SUV.

I eased off the brakes and rolled forward, noting her car (a light colored, older model sedan) had significant damage and feared the worst for my car. I immediately put on my turn signal to start changing lanes toward the shoulder. I glanced back in my rear view mirror again, as I was moving to the side, to see that the sedan was still stopped in our lane. Once I pulled off, I took a few calming breaths and when I looked up, there was no sign of the sedan.

I couldn’t believe it. I felt sure she would follow me because her car clearly had damage (and who doesn’t want to check out their car after an accident?!), but I couldn’t see her anywhere. Motorists were slowing down because of another accident a few feet ahead of me, which had also pulled off to the side. I got out of my car to inspect the damage and was relieved to find it was minimal. A few scrapes of her paint and a newly misaligned bumper, but no real damage. Luffy reminded me to make sure my liftgate still opened (which it did) and we debated whether to call the police. We ended up not filing a report because (1) the damage to my car is minimal and we probably won’t even have it fixed, much less file a claim with our insurance and (2) I have no identifying details from her, other than a vague impression of the color and model of her car.

I’m fine, my car is fine, the blueberry is fine, as far as I know. I wish I had had the presence of mind to note her license plate, although I’m not sure it would have done any good. I guess I just put too much faith in other people, assuming that she’d pull over with me. Live and learn, I suppose, live and learn.