I was literally 50 feet from being in a parking space, when some stupid twat slams into me (sorry ladies, but when I get hit in the back bumper while I'm at a dead stop (for the second time in three months), the term "stupid twat" is perfectly valid).
We pull into the parking lot (as I said, I was almost there anyway) and start to exchange information. She has the balls (I know, a twat with balls is an oxymoron or a transvestite) to get out, look at my smashed up bumper (this time, there are clearly visible scratches, and the black trim is cracked and leaving abut a 1 inch gap between it and the molded bumper), and ask if there was any damage to my car. She also asks, in that passive-aggressive manner that all guilty people have, if I had my turn signal on. I did, just like I always do when I turn into the parking lot, just like I have for the past two years.
Then the capper: she doesn't have her insurance card with her. I should have called the cops right then and there, and let them give her a citation for failure to provide proof of insurance, but I was so pissed off I wasn't thinking straight. I got her name, address, phone, make and model, and license plate number, and told her to call me before 5:00. I also got the name of her insurance carrier, so if she doesn't call me, I'll call them directly.
Seriously, I know my car is small, but is it invisible? It's bright red, I had my headlights and taillights on, and I was signaling for a left turn. What the fuck is it that these idiots from Carmel think they can just drive over me?
Fortunately, I don't have to worry about making an appointment for the body work. I still have the appointment for this April, from when I was rear-ended the last time.