My insurance company and his were already squabbling about percentages of blame for the accident. My insurance company's Claims Sloth was explaining how these things work—“He said you were going 80, so it’ll probably be 75/25 liability between the two of you.”
“I was going under the speed limit.”
“Well, I’m afraid he said you weren’t."
“So he saw me well enough to assess my speed with certainty, yet he drove across my path anyway?”
“Heh. Yeah. Listen, John, that’s just how these things g—“
“Thank god I have a dash cam, then.”
“You do?”
“Yep. And if you time it and count the lines and convert feet per second to miles per hour, I was doing 33-36.”
“What was the speed limit again?”
It was 40. And voila, the guy’s insurance company, upon seeing their short hairs clutched by vice-grips, called me to accept 100% of the liability. They’re suddenly so nice about it, too.
Upon hearing this story, Allie audibly shuddered. “Every time your paranoia is positively reinforced, a part of my soul dies,” she sighed.