Now, don't get concerned. I'm fine. Don't start crying and offering to send money.
Well, if you want to send money...
Anyway, I was driving home from work on Friday afternoon down Shackleford in Little Rock on my way to Interstate 430 to make my journey to beautiful, beautiful Benton. I didn't even make it a mile from my office when I got hit from behind by a Honda Accord (I refuse to use the term "rear ended" as the phrase has taken on a disturbing connotation over the years).
The Accord was pushed into my by a bastard in a pickup truck. How do I know he was a bastard? He looked like one when I saw him in my rear view mirror, that's how.
Besides, he fled the scene of the accident. Yes he managed to inch away in bumper-to-bumper traffic and make it to Interstate 630 before the cops got there. The nice lady in the Accord and I never got his license plate number because we were busily dodging cars and trying to get off the road so we could call the police.
Fortunately, my car suffered no damage and I wasn't hurt. I feel terrible for the woman who hit me (well, she was shoved into me, actually) because the back end of her Accord was a complete mess.
Now, I used to be a lawyer and I had a golden opportunity because of that accident. When you're in an accident -- even a minor one -- you're supposed to milk it for all its worth and get a nice, fat settlement. That, sadly, has become the American way. Get in an accident that's not your fault? Fake like your hurt, take that ambulance ride to the hospital, run up some chiropractor bills, miss some time at work so you can establish a claim for lost wages and stick it to an insurance company.
But I just couldn't follow my lawyerly instincts on Friday. I noticed I wasn't hurt, my car wasn't even scratched and the jerk who caused everything would probably get away with the mess he'd made. Had I made out like I was hurt, the woman who was shoved into me -- the same one that was on her way to her second job -- would probably have been stuck holding the bag and her insurance rates would have skyrocketed.
So I didn't even bother calling my insurance company and told the police that I was fine and my car was OK. I also told them I hoped they got their mitts on the guy who caused the accident and beat him senseless with a billy club.
Perhaps I got a nice reminder of why I only practiced law for four years. That self-interested bastard who caused an accident and then fled the scene might make a pretty good lawyer, however. He's got the ethics for it.
More Jeff Foxworthy
I know some of you are sick of hearing about Jeff Foxworthy, but I have but one more tale to tell of the great comedian and then I'll shut up about him. Of course, I sent Foxworthy the ultimate redneck joke about a month ago and received a response last week. Rather than go through all of that, it's summed up pretty well right here if you want to plod through the story once again.
Along with a very nice letter, Foxworthy sent along an autographed photo. My wife went out to Wal-Mart, got one of those simulated woodgrain, plastic picture frames and slapped the photo in it. She then came up with her own redneck joke:
"If you have an autographed photo of Jeff Foxworthy hanging in your living room, you might be a redneck"
That's doubly true if you bought the frame from from Wal-Mart.
My wife does have a sense of humor every now and again after all.