I got the call today. Sid from the insurance company's estimating facility called me this morning(What??? They actually work on the weekends?!?!) to inform me that, "unfortunatley, your vehicle is a total loss."
Yeah, that doesn't come as a surprise... Yes, I'd like you to bag up all my personal belongings that were in the car and send them to my nearest claims center, please and thank you... $3500 damage just on the big stuff alone, not to mention anything they might find when they open it up? Wow!... Yah, parts are expensive... So someone will call me later this week with the value of the car?... Any guesses what that'll be?... ok, I'll send along receipts of all the work I've had done on it recently... ok, thanks for letting me know... yes, you have a good day, too... thank you... bye.
When I got the call, I found that I was actually kind of sad. I realized that smashed in the intersection was the last time I'd ever see my car. No 'last goodbye.' Isn't that crazy? For heaven's sake, it wasn't a person! I guess it's more the shock of losing it like that. It would be a different story if I had sold it. (Which, now that it was actually working properly - for the most part - I was considering doing. Bah!)
It's funny how attatched we get to our stuff. You'd think from all my ranting and raving about my car that I hated the thing. It was quirky. Irritating at times when yet another thing broke, yes, I'll give you that. But honestly, it was a good source of stories. It always got me from point A to point B. It was basically my first car, other than a car I had for six months in university for a job.
To the Beastmobile: Rest in Peace.
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