As I was on my way to work to retrieve my paycheck, which I have for the past thirteen years, something infuriating happened.
*photo courtesy of wayrmarking.com
5 days on any given week and 6 days every two weeks I drive by this limestone quarry. For those unfamiliar with what a quarry is, it is a location from which large pieces of rock, in this case limestone, are extracted from the earth and either shipped out in huge chunks or milled into gravel of various sizes. Gravel. Son of a bitch.
The gravel is hauled out, most commonly, in what I lovingly call "Rock Trucks", but are actually dump trucks; unholy behemoths that hog the highways laden deep with tons of violent projectiles travelling at high rates of speed. When loaded with gravel, the hauling portion of the vehicle is supposed to be covered with a tarp-type material to prevent rocks from being thrown from the back. Few of them do.
*photo courtesy of jdpower.com
They are so commonplace in this area, they almost become part of the background. Not to be ignored, but really not to be feared either. They will often accelerate more slowly than other traffic, so you learn to stay back from them in traffic.
So it was on the drive to work. I had already passed a handful of them, just like countless times from countless trips before. All without incident.
Until this happened.
*my photo, Samsung phone
I was driving around 60 MPH/96 KPH, slightly over the speed limit, but not recklessly so.
A loud CRACK and shattered glass erupted in front of my eyes, less than an arms length from my face. A wave of adrenaline washed over me as my knuckles tightened and whitened my grip on the steering wheel. A red rock truck had just passed in the opposing lane of traffic. Thankfully neither my lady, nor her kiddos were with me, because I erupted in a torrent of obscenities and and profanities that would have made the devil himself uncomfortable.
Half thinking, half raging, I pulled into the quarry to have a word with the man behind the desk at the scale. All outgoing loads have to weigh their payload before departing. It is a business, after all. Rocks ain't free.
He, very briefly, said that if it didn't happen on their property and wasn't one of their trucks there was nothing he could do. Still fuming that I knew I was going to be fucked by the time this was all over, I gave him a description of the rock truck that passed me. He sighed, and then turned to his computer. 2 minutes later he told me, "It wasn't one of ours. It is one of (nondescript)'s trucks. He jotted down a number on a yellow scrap of paper and basically sent me on my way.
*my photo, Samsung phone
I called the number while sitting behind my freshly shattered windshield...4 times. No prompt to leave a voicemail, no automated system...just long periods of waiting for someone to answer. I was done waiting.
I still had to go and pick up my paycheck, which was now looking significantly more shabby. But events like this is why I pay for insurance.
Insurance. Scam. Leaving out many of the particulars that will only serve to warm my blood again, my insurance company reminded me that my policy has a 500 USD deductible on any glass damage, and the company they will be using to make repairs will be charging me 497.98 for the repair. Bullshit. Scam.
Apparently when a rock the size of a golf ball flies from the back of an uncovered dump truck with cannon-like force and velocity, if it bounces off the road ONCE it becomes what is known as "road debris" and the owner of the vehicle that was damaged assumes liability for said damages. Like I said, insurance companies are a damn scam. Shame we can't legally operate a vehicle without having coverage.
That is an unaccounted for 497.98 USD that is coming out of the paycheck I just worked two weeks for. Before I have even deposited it at my bank. Fuck that, I said. I found a place that will replace it for 266.68.
Two weeks from Thursday. Son of a bitch.