The police report from my recent accident is a gold mine of amusement, most of it admittedly unintentional.
Let's begin with this substantially accurate but hilarious police drawing of the incident, in which I appear to have been flattened by a 2-dimensional Borg spaceship. I told you he was going the wrong way.
The best detail comes from the information on Driver 1, though. Initially I felt kind of sorry for the him. No, really. He spoke very poor English, seemed terrified, and was, the last I saw of him before they strapped me to a backboard and shoved me in an ambulance, attempting to explain to a stolidly unsympathetic Prince Georges County cop why he couldn't produce a drivers' license or vehicle registration. I figured he was an undocumented alien, uninsured, unlicensed, and what guys like my husband call "judgement proof." In the civil liability sense, of course, not the sheep and goats sense.
There was one detail that didn't fit with this size-up, though. He was driving a relatively new domestic sedan, which had the legend "Metro Access" painted on the door. I didn't know what this meant, and figured it for some sort of black market private car service.
The police report explains it all, though. The driver did have a license, and was driving a vehicle registered to Logisticare, Inc. Logisticare is, I am amazed to learn, a nationwide provider of contract transport services, and operates in Maryland under the name Metro Access providing....wait for it....rides for people too disabled to use public transportation. That's right. I was disabled by the Americans with Disabilities Act.
Logisticare/Metro Access have, so far, been completely unresponsive to my requests for information, insurance company details, etc. Nor have they offered any apology. I'm capable of being patient up to a point; it has been that slow holiday week between Christmas and New Years and I understand the offices are understaffed right now. Be prepared for boredom in the new year as I chronicle this idiotic tale to death, however.