May 31, 2007

My Personal Zodiac

Though not too long ago I wrote a facetious entry about vigilante justice with respect to the Zodiac Killer, as it turns out, that entry was extremely prescient in ways that are anything but farcical: that's right, I have found my own personal Zodiac that I must dedicate my life to finding, and am willing to risk just about anything to achieve success. And while my much-touted romantic quest to ruin my life has yielded negligible results in the past two years, this particular quest promises to not only ruin my life, but possibly end it altogether.

OK, so what happened now, the cynical reader might sigh. Did some fat ass move slowly in front of you, and now, you're dedicating your life to destroying them? Actually, no, but that definitely would be an affront worthy of total annihilation. Sidewalk rage aside, however, my story does involve transportation.

As some of you may know, about a month ago I was rear-ended (in my car, in case any of you were going to make a jejune SF joke). Though it was a rather low impact accident (I was stopped in morning rush hour traffic on the 280-S by the 380 interchange and hit by another car that was hit by a car behind it), it still resulted in rather significant damage to my vehicle. Having never been in an accident in eight years of driving, I did not know exactly how to react. I pulled over on the side of the road, as did the other two drivers, and we surveyed the damage. The woman behind me also had never been in an accident, but her car sustained the most damage, and so she wanted to call the insurance companies. The man behind her (the one ultimately responsible) thought it would be best to not report it, as his premium would rise.

Now, believe me when I say that I'm no fan of insurance companies (as a single male under 25 with a 2-door car living in San Francisco, I pay exorbitant amounts), but having no idea what kind of damage my car had sustained, I was in no mood to deal with it myself, as the latter driver had suggested. I sided with the woman and we all exchanged information (though I did not know exactly what information to ask for at the time). I also took down both license plate numbers, as I thought these would be definitive in identifying the driver.

Fast forward a month, and it turns out my car sustained nearly $1200 in damage from the impact. I have a high-deductible policy ($1000 deductible) , and so, I had to pay a grand up front to get my car fixed. The day I got my car, I called my claims adjuster and inquired into when I might be expected to be reimbursed (I was the lead car, and thus, had no liability for the accident). What he told me left me in the state I find myself now: discontent, devastated, and determined.

The plate on the last driver had not been registered in years, no one was responding at the phone number he provided, and his insurance company apparently had no record of him at all. Though the investigation is on-going, it seems more and more likely that I will not be recovering my $1000 at all, at least not through insurance. And that's where my new quest comes in: I fully intend to recover my $1000 and will not rest until I am either dead, or have gotten it back from him—with interest.

Now, as anyone who saw Zodiac knows, hunting down criminals and vagabonds is no part-time job. That's OK. I have already come to terms with the fact that I might have to quit my job and leech off my parents (and later, my sister) to accomplish this quest; all great endeavors require great sacrifices.

Those of you who that are especially logically inclined might be wondering why I would be willing to leave my job and ruin my life over such a trivial sum of money, but what you do not realize, my dear imbeciles, is that it is not a matter of money, but a matter of principle. And what is a man without his principles? Nothing. That's what. So fret not about me, dear readers, for I shall succeed. Mark my words: this heinous uninsured driver of an unregistered vehicle will regret the day he ever ran into a car that ran into me. I shall find him, and I shall make him pay—even if it takes me the rest of my life. (Cue sadistic laughter.)